


Wings, Sex and Magic

by Unlucky_charm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Jealous Dean, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Protective Sam, Stripper Castiel, Stripper Gabriel, Waiter Dean, waiter sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlucky_charm/pseuds/Unlucky_charm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural is an exclusive club where the elite go to enjoy the company of one of Crowley's Angels for the night. Sam and Dean are new waiters who discover what "The Garrison" really means. Dean/stripper!Castiel, Sam/stripper!Gabriel. Rated E for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Club Supernatural

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by this http://doekent.tumblr.com/post/63762908169/theknottyknitter-undeadcas#notes

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 1- Club Supernatural

By, Unlucky-charm 

“Are you sure that’s the right address?” Sam asked once the Impala had rolled to a stop in front of the joint. 

Dean would have reminded his brother to trust his sense of direction and ability to take down a street name through the phone if it weren’t for the bright red neon sign hanging over their heads. In a town as plain and humble as Lawrence, the place whose name flashed “Supernatural” stood out like a sore thumb. It’s black painted bricks and lack of any windows gave off an intimidating air, like a biker bar one would be too scared to enter. After further observation, Dean also came to notice how passersby would avoid its looming gaze as if the establishment’s eyes was following them as they rushed by the entrance. 

“Halloween store?” Sam tried, but Dean shook his head.  
Supernatural was neither a biker bar, a voodoo shop or a costume store. No, Supernatural was much, much more than that...

“Dancers.” Dean said, a mischievous half grin spreading across his lips.

“Dancers?”

The older brother pointed upwards to the glowing sign, underneath which was a smaller, unlit sign. “Dancers.” He repeated. 

“Dean...” Same called after him, rushing to catch up before he barged in through the door. “Dean, I don’t think this is the right place.”

“I sure as hell hope it is!”

“No Dean, this doesn’t make any sense.” He protested, but followed his brother inside nonetheless.

The place looked like any other bar, with wooden stools, table and of course, a bar lined with an array of drinks, particularly feminine ones, Dean noted. However, the place didn’t seem to be open for business, with the chairs up on the tables, certain cabinets under lock and key and not to mention how empty the place was. 

After further examination, the brothers came to the conclusion that the place was a mix between a bar, a restaurant and a cabaret, judging by the vast expanse of the stage at the very front. But there was something -they couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly- very peculiar about the place. It might have been the iron gothic chandelier hanging from the ceiling, providing the place with such little light that the glow could hardly be called dim or the benches along the wall that looked like they belonged in different churches or even the strong smell of incense coming from the currently unlit candles scattered around the place. 

“This is seriously weird.” Sam said. “I think we should leave.”

“Let’s wait a bit...”

“Wait for what? There’s no one here and I STILL don’t think this is the right place.”

“He said he’d be here.”

“This place is empty, Dean.” Sam stopped in his track in the middle of the space. “Besides, I don’t see how a whorehouse would need a waiter and/or delivery boy.” 

“Sam, I assure you, this ain’t no whorehouse.” Dean snorted. “It’s probably a strip club or –“

“I don’t see any poles.” Sam interrupted, crossing his arms over is chest stubbornly. 

“Sammy, I don’t know, okay? We just need this job, so I don’t care if it’s a pimp were meeting, some pervert or wannabe Hefner, I’ll wait for the guy!” He raised his voice, his words echoing through the empty establishment. 

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Sam raised his hands defensively. “I’m just saying. What kind of guy leaves the door unlocked and just disappea-”

“Hello boys.” 

A British accent followed by the clicking of expensive dress shoes startled both boy, who spun around to face the corner from which a dark figure emerged. The short man was wearing black, top to bottom, his hair included. His shifty eyes glided over both men before an eerie grin curled his face into what could only be described as a friendly sneer.

“Um, Crowley?” Sam tried.

“At your service.” He chuckled. “Well, more the contrary, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed nervously. “I guess so.”

They shook hands (after Dean nudged Sam in the ribs a few time) and so began the tour.

“I hope you like the venue, you will be working here after all.” He introduced the place with a grand arm gesture. “This is the main floor, where you will be serving the customers.  
You will be kind, polite, smile and flirt if necessary. Here’s a hint.” He winked. “It’s always necessary.”

He went on to show them the bar, the bathroom, the kitchen (where they should never step foot because Bobby, the head chef got annoyed) and most importantly, the stage. 

“This is where the magic happens, boys. This is what puts the bread on my table and after tonight, yours too. This stage is my pride and joy and soon, you will learn why.”

As much as his words sounded like a loving wife talking about her husband, his tone was entirely different. He treated the stage like a beautiful affair he was having, like a secret  
he wouldn’t dare share with the world. It made Sam and Dean wonder what the hell happened on that stage that was so special. 

“Must have some amazing dancers here, Crowley.” Dean commented with an uncomfortable smile.

“Oh yes, of course. After all, what is a stage without its performers.” He said and blinked, having suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of performers...”

He lead them to the very back of the large hall. The walls of the place were covered in planks of a deep red tinted wood, but this back wall was painted pitch black, disguising every  
single door or entrance it held. The only way to tell that there was a door there was because of the gold knob.

“Behind these doors exists a realm beyond even my understanding.” He announced. “These are their quarters. Where they get ready, where they talk, where they eat, where they exchange tips and sometimes have last minute practices between performances. You don’t go in there unless I or my colleague tell you to. It is a scary world, but they love it in there. It’s the ‘behind the scenes’ they don’t want anyone seeing. They gossip, talk about the patrons, which ones they got their eyes on... you know, to avoid mix ups and –“

“Sorry to interrupt... Crowley, sir.” Sam cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m slightly confused. What do your performers do exactly?”

At that, Crowley chuckled, his laugh rising higher and higher in volume until it overtook the entire building. “My performers? Oh, my dear Sam, my performers will do whatever  
you want them to. And better! For the right price, they will make any rich man’s deepest darkest fantasies come true. Some of them even have their “usuals” that come in.”

“Right... so... prostitutes?” Dean asked.

“I’d like to use the term... professional entertainers.”

“Right.” The boys said in unison, sending each other a few terrified glances. They had answered an ad asking for waiters and a delivery boy. They were starting to regret not inquiring about the job further on the phone. 

Crowley ended the tour with what was possibly the most interesting area in the entire building. At first glance, in the darkness, one would think that the place just had a really high ceiling. But, if they looked closer, they’d notice the railing that ran over the walls. There was a second floor. A second floor lined with doors. Locked doors. After Crowley’s explanation, Sam and Dean, red faced, changed their minds about WHERE the magic happened. 

“How do they know when a guy wants to...”

“Not all of them can. The really good ones? Easy. They say it’s all in the eyes.” Crowley shrugged. “But you won’t have to worry about that. My bartender, hostess and waiters are off limits.”

Crowley offered to show them the uh... “entertainment rooms” one by one, but Sam made sure to politely decline before this went from being the weirdest job they had yet to the weirdest job they would ever have.

“We’re closed through Monday and Tuesday.” The Brit explained at the door. “Wednesdays and Thursdays are rehearsal days as well as Friday afternoons.”

“Uniforms?” Dean inquired.

“Shirts. All black.” He said. “I’ll see you boys on Friday then, say... 9 o’clock?”

“That’s perfect.”

Crowley smiled, once again staring both boys up and down. “I have high expectations of you. Don’t let me down.”

Right before he shut the door on their confused faces, he chuckled once more.

“Welcome to Supernatural, boys.”


	2. The Garrison

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 2- The Garrison

By, Unlucky-charm 

 

“What time the show at, son?” The middle aged gentleman in the Calvin Klein suit asked Dean as he placed a napkin underneath the glass of whiskey he had ordered.

“They should be starting any second now.” Dean grinned. 

“I thought they started at 9.” Another woman chimed in from the other side of the bench. She too was draped in fancy black; a gown made of fabric that shimmered under the candlelight. Her hair was up, piled on the top of her head, strands falling to frame her face. 

“Well, they take a lot of time to get ready. You know,” He grinned. “Women.”

The comment got him a few forced laughed, but the table in general seemed confused. ‘Was that sexist?’ Dean thought to himself. ‘Did I offend them?’

Before creating any other awkward situations, he made his way back to the bar where their charming bartender, Benny, was waiting for him looking rather amused. He seemed to have been observing Dean’s exchange with the occupants of table number six. 

“Having some trouble there, brother?” He asked.

“For a strip club, this place is fancy as hell.” Dean said, lowering his voice just in case he offended any other rich people in proximity. 

“Much more than a strip club, that I can guarantee.” He laughed. “This your first time here?”

“Yup. Surprised I haven’t heard of it before. Seems pretty high end.” He scanned the room before turning back to Benny. “Must have some talented ladies up on that stage then.”   
He winked and picked up a few of the Bible looking menus for table four. Dean had found it clever how they looked exactly like Bibles, but with lists of food inside. Sam had found it rather disturbing.

Benny’s smile faltered for a moment before returning, twice as bright and somewhat pitiful.

“Dean...”

At that second, as if on cue, the lights went off. For a few seconds, it was pitch black in the club and suddenly, the stage came to life. The velvet red curtains parted to reveal a set of black silhouettes posing all across the floor. A set of –Dean gulped- male silhouettes. One of which stood at the very center and whose outline seemed awfully familiar. Soon, the lights went off again and the spotlight was on Crowley and Crowley alone... with a priest’s collar on.

“Hello boys and girls.” He purred into the microphone. A soft drum roll had started playing in the background, making the entire thing seem like a circus act, Crowley being the ring leader. 

“I’m Crowley, King of Hell, here to welcome you to Supernatural.” His voice resonated through the room, getting louder and louder as a bass began to thump to the beat of the drum in the background. The sound was elevating as the Brit spoke, creating an incredibly dramatic effect that made even Dean shiver with anticipation.

“We have a stunning show planned for you tonight with a set of lovely Angels to choose from, so be sure to pick the right one... Here’s a hint.” Silence. He paused, a sly, suggestive smile forming on his lips. 

“They can’t say no.”

A few satisfied chuckles and giggles ran through the crowd, making Dean realise that these people have done this before... possibly many times. He suddenly understood Benny’s reaction and the Calvin Klein gentleman’s reaction.

“ So I’ll let you sit back. Relax. And enjoy the ride.” 

Trumpets joined the strengthening beat and Dean, as well as the audience, just couldn’t wait anymore.

“But first! Ladies and gentlemen. Let me introduce...”

Silence once more. 

“THE GARRISON!”

The music finally exploded into a rhythmic mix of jazz and dance music. The lights brightened, but only enough to be able to decipher some general facial features of the performers. They were wearing a uniform of clean stark white suits, white shoes and miniature white wings protruding from their backs. These men looked clean, well groomed and overall sexy.

At the announcement of their –Dean guessed- stage names, each dancer would walk up to Crowley, make a short scene and return backstage. 

“Uriel!”

“Ezekiel!”

“Samandriel!”

Different men of different shapes, sizes and color walked by Crowley. Some grinded up on him playfully, others blew a kiss to the audience and some just made the most sexual gestures Dean had ever seen a guy in such a well tailored suit exhibit. 

The list went on until there was a lengthy pause. Only a few Angels remained on stage. Dean assumed (admitted) they were the best looking ones. Was Crowley simply saving best for last or were they in for another treat?

“And how could we forget our Archangels, eh folks?” He growled into the microphone. “Aren’t they gorgeous? Please welcome...”

“Michael!”

The crowd began to cheer as a dark haired and very blue eyed, Clark Kent looking fellow walked up on stage, licked his lips in a seductive manner that even made Dean shudder. 

He had learned about Archangels in school and he remembered learning their names by heart. As Crowley invited them to display their affection to the crowd, Dean recited the names in his head.

“Lucifer!”

“Raphael!”

“Castiel!”

‘Castiel?’ Dean wondered. He couldn’t remember a Castiel on the list. 

“And last but not least...!”

‘Who the hell is Castiel?’

“Gabriel!”

The last Archangel, who was so obviously a total tease, purred at the crowd before exiting the stage. The entire place was going wild with people cheering, whistling and clapping enthusiastically. Dean did not know what was so special about the Gabriel guy, but he seemed to be liked. He was cute too... although Dean would never admit to that. The guy very clearly had a massive ego as is. 

“Men? Seriously?” Dean sighed his complaint to Benny. “I get a job at a high end strip club and all the dancers are men?”

“Seems like it.” He laughed. “Can’t complain, though. Some of those guys are so good looking, I’ve considered taking a day off and arriving as a client.”

“Yeah?” Dean was surprised. He didn’t expect this bartender to express his desires so openly. However, it in no way pushed Dean to do the same. Any attraction he felt to any of those guys (and he definitely did), he would keep to himself. “Crowley told me there was a special way of picking them up for... the other entertainment rooms...”

“The rooms upstairs? Yeah, not to mention expensive.” He rolled his eyes and slid a drink down the bar and into the hands of a customer who caught it without even tearing his eyes away from the empty stage. ‘Wow,’ Dean thought, ‘these people seriously love this place.’

“I’ve worked here long enough to know each of those boys inside and out. I know what makes them tick and I know just the right look that would make them follow me upstairs.”

“Have you ever...” Dean asked out of sheer curiosity.

“Slept with one of ‘em? No. It’s not like we’re not allowed, but I have a feeling things would get messy if I did.” He grinned. “You can go for it if you want, though.”

“Right...”

Dean wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore. One part of his brain was still trying to register what he had just seen, while the other part was attempting to recall which table had ordered the bottle of champagne. And yet, in all that inner commotion, a tiny percentage of him just couldn’t let go of Castiel. The man named after the so called angel looked like he had just rolled out of bed, which in no way meant that he didn’t look anything but damn fine. His stoic expression had given him a mysterious air as well as making him look kind of confused and suspicious of everyone. It wasn’t really the guy himself that was bothering Dean, but his name. He could not even remember a single angel named   
Castiel, let alone an Archangel. 

“Dean!” Came an urgent whisper in his ear. Sam, standing right behind him with an empty plastic platter, was frantically shaking his head left and right. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean sighed.

“They’re men!”

“Yes, yes they are. What do you want me to do about it?” Dean’s tone sounded bored, despite the fact that he was starting to feel very uncomfortable about working here. He felt it gave him a ‘gay’ edge he really didn’t want.

“But that’s not all, Dean! I hate it here. Old men keep winking at me and the middle aged women won’t stop pinching my ass and there was this one guy who –“

“Remember that Catholic school?” Dean cut in, tilting his head dreamily.

“The wha-? Catholic school?” Sam frowned. Clearly he didn’t think his brother’s question was relevant to his problems. What he didn’t know was that Dean could not give less of a shit.

“Yeah. Remember that ONE really Catholic school we went to for a few weeks?”

“Um yeah... what about it?”

“Remember, we had to learn a bunch of angel names?”

“Yeah...?”

Dean zoned out, staring blankly at the empty stage before them. The lights were on, but the dancers had yet to arrive. Which act would they start with? Were the so called   
Archangels kept for last? What did they do during that time? Entertaining themselves in their changing rooms? Or were they entertaining guests in the other rooms?

“Micheal, Raphael, Lucifer...” He trailed off, signalling Sammy to continue.

“and Gabriel. Why?”

“Castiel?”

“Who’s Castiel?” Sam’s frown deepened.

“Yeah... I thought so.”


	3. Special Delivery

Wings, Sex and Magic  
Chapter 3- Special Delivery   
By, Unlucky-charm 

He blamed it on the fact that it was his first day. He blamed it on the fact that he still needed some getting used to. He blamed it on the fact that it was very distracting and maybe he needed a few shifts for desensitization. But after the sixth time he caught himself standing in the middle of the club, in the maze of tables and church benches, gawking at the stage with an empty tray pressed against his chest, he knew he would have to start paying more attention. People were starting to notice. 

“Don’t worry about it.” One of the waitresses told him with a smile so sly, it was making even Dean slightly uncomfortable. Meg, for some reason, was the only female worker with her hair let down. Her messy brown waves reached her shoulders; for all they knew, she had woken up that way. By the way she played her game on the floor, Dean could tell she was a devoted worker. She waited tables like Dean ate pie: with speed and great ardor. Meg knew how to flirt in all the right ways with all the right people, but she never took shit from them. Unlike the other waiters and waitresses, no patron ever dared touch Meg. Dean also noticed that Crowley was given no special treatment as her boss. Among all his angels, Crowley had somehow caught himself a demon.

“ No, it’s just that –“

“Oh please, no fucking macho testosterone excuses. You’re working at a male strip club.” She silenced him with a raise of her hand. “These guys are pretty hot. Even you have to admit.”

“Well, yes. I –uh... I can acknowledge that these men are ah... of the attractive type and –“

“Dean.” She glared.

“Yes, fine! Jesus Christ, they’re hot, okay!?” He gave in, only a bit too loudly.

“There we go.” She smiled sweetly, which was in no way sweet. “Was that so hard? It’s okay to be a bit awestruck on your first few times. These are talented boys.”

“Yeah. I can very much see that.”

They both turned their gazes onto the stage where Lucifer, clad in nothing but black boxer briefs and devil horns, was grinding up against the large satanic staff he was holding between his thighs. The angel had his head thrown back, biting down on his lower lip in a practiced expression of ecstasy. He moved his hips with remarkable swiftness, occasionally sliding down low on the hilt like it was a stripper pole. His motions were in sync with the music, which ironically enough, was remixed version of Gaga’s Judas. When the song ended, he walked off the stage with a wink to the audience. On his muscular back, it was hard to not notice the tattooed pair of large, intricate angel wings.

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” Dean commented.

“It’s not a convenience, more of a requirement, really.” Meg chuckled as she gathered half a dozen colorful drinks onto her tray. 

“They all have it?”

She didn’t answer him, but the raise of her eyebrows as she left told him enough. There was much he did not know and much he shouldn’t be asking questions about. He was new to this small community and he’d have to learn his place, shut up and play the role. This was the kind of joint that fed off bad pasts. Sam and Dean fit the criteria, but maybe not as much as those dancers on stage. 

When the next routine started, Dean found Sam sitting at the bar with Jo, possibly the youngest person in the room. She looked out of place with her blonde hair and sweet face. Dean hoped she was older than she looked.

“See? They’re all moving forward. They know who’s up next.” 

They were huddled together, Sam listening attentively to whatever it was Jo was explaining to him. They were both staring out at the crowd, where a large amount of women had stood and were moving towards the front of the stage.

“They’re trying to find closer seats.” 

“Wow. That bad?” Sam exhaled loudly and raised his brows. 

“Yeah. He’s pretty good.”

“Who is?” Dean walked up to them, staring both of them down and internally rolling his eyes at his brother’s way too friendly body language. Jo was hot and closer to Sam’s age than his, that was for sure.

“Gabriel. He’s a favorite... apparently.” Sam said and then turning to Jo for further information.

“Gabriel tends to pick a member of the audience for a personal lap dance. He’s the only one who does it.”

“They’re not even subtle about it.” His brother added, jerking his chin towards the mess in front of the stage.

They were all standing and chatting around, negotiating over seating up until the lights went out. When the spotlight came on, everyone was seated and eerily quiet. Smoke began to gather on the edges of the stage as giggles arose from the crowd. 

“He’s kind of... ridiculous.” Was the last thing Jo said before Gabriel great appearance. 

The angel arose from a hidden platform in the middle of the stage. He was dressed in what seemed to be a delivery uniform. After the smoke cleared, so did the Pepsi logo on his breast as well as on his cap. For reasons unfathomable to Dean, Gabriel was a Pepsi delivery guy, which held absolutely no sexual subtext, at least to his knowledge. 

The women in the crowd seemed to disagree. If they weren’t already cheering him on, they were giggling manically or simply fanning themselves with whatever flat object they could find if their own hands weren’t already enough. 

Even when Dean set aside his rigid masculine persona, he could not see what was so appealing about Gabriel beyond his charming lopsided smile. If anything, he was mediocre and Dean could not see what the fuss was about, especially when taking into consideration how dreamy the other angels were in comparison. 

Until he started dancing of course. Everything began to make more sense when he started dancing. 

“Hello lovelies.” He purred as he began unbuttoning his shirt, causing a domino effect of swoons across the floor.

The angel was grinding against thin air, his movements fluid, his hips independent from the rest of his body, while his fingers still worked the buttons of his shirt. He moved expertly, no falters or fumbles, as his gaze glided over the crowd. Where his eyes landed, women began to bob up and down, clapping their hands together in anticipation, hoping to be picked. From the stage, the effect must have been wave-like. Dean would have sent a second glance around with that kind of power, just to rejoice in the potential of a simple look. Hell, the guy wasn’t even making eye contact. 

Once all the buttons undone, he leaned back, letting the materiel slip off his loose arms and fall to the floor behind him. His hips had not for a moment stopped and did not do so as his hands lowered to his belt. His eyes remained darting back and forth across the sea of patrons, although they always ended up settling for a few seconds, right over Dean’s head. It didn’t matter how many glances Dean shot over his shoulder, how many times he spun around to check what could possibly be so fascinating to baffle the most ridiculously professional of strippers, but he just couldn’t figure it out. By the fifth time, Dean decided to make his way over to the bar, the approximate area Gabriel seemed so enticed with. 

“What the hell is he looking at?” He asked Benny, but it was Jo who answered him.

“I don’t know, but it’s weird, even for him.”

“What’s weird?” Sam chimed in, making his way around the bar. He had a towel slung over his shoulder and a newly dried beer glass in his hands. 

“Gabriel...” Jo muttered absentmindedly, her gaze glued to the stage. She turned to Benny. “He seems distracted.”

“Sure does.” Benny nodded right before he wrinkled his stoic expression into a suspicious squint. “Jo. Look at him...”

Jo squinted in turn. “He’s looking straight at us.”

“Us?” Dean said, snapping his head left and right, looking at the others for answers they did not share with him. “Is that bad? You sound worried. It’s bad, isn’t it. I bet it’s bad.”

Dean did not like attention. By ‘us’, he sure as hell hoped Jo was referring to Benny and herself.

“It’s... peculiar.” Jo said, turning her head towards him but keeping her eyes stuck to the angel on the stage. Gabriel had removed his belt, letting his pants fall and hang   
dangerously low on his hips. He had nice, bare hipbones that accentuated the lack of underwear. 

“That doesn’t sound like a good peculiar.” Dean said, slightly panicked. It was his first day on the job, but he would have been much calmer if a) Jo were being slightly more reassuring than worried herself and b) if Gabriel wasn’t staring straight at them. 

“It’s just that, um... well, last time he did this...” she cleared her throat. “Gabriel doesn’t usually just ignore crowds, he sort of –“

“Basks in the attention.” Benny completed her sentence. 

“Exactly. So this behavior is very, very weird.” She explained, motioning to the stage with an open palm. This did not seem to faze Gabriel one bit. However, it helped Dean see that he wasn’t really staring at Jo at all. Whoever it was he was looking at, that was one intense stare, not to mention the dark narrowed eyes and predatory smirk. Whoever it was he was looking at... he’d be holding his or her gaze in a tight grip with a look like that. 

“Who the hell is he –“

“Jo... why’s he looking at me like that?” Sam asked, the worry in his voice catching Dean’s full attention immediately.

“Sammy? He lookin’ at you?” 

“Yeah.” His brother gulped, staring at the stage with wide eyes like he were the deer and Gabriel were the headlights. 

“Uh oh.” Benny sighed.

“What?” Dean turned to the bartender, who was quick to turn his back on him. “Uh oh what?”

“Ladies and gentlemen...” He purred into the microphone. 

“Jo. What’s going on.” He snapped and then turned to Sam. “Sammy, stop looking!”

Sam gulped again, turning away from the stage long enough for the angel to get irritated and clear his throat. Not that two seconds was really that long, but apparently Gabriel didn’t appreciate all eyes NOT being on him. 

“Dean. What do I do?” 

“Nothing.” Jo answered, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re kind of done for.”

“Ladies and gentlemen...” He purred a second time. “What do we have over there.”

The crowd followed his gaze and it was a matter of time until Gabriel had turned all eyes onto Sammy, who in turn was showing off his talents of turning every single shade of red in existence. 

The men and women in the crowd craned their necks and stood at awkward angles in displeasure, but mostly curiosity, to get a glimpse of whatever breathtaking individual had caught the angel’s attention. Because, of course, any person worthy of the capacity to captivate Gabriel must, at the very least, be able to leave every other human being in the room breathless.

Sam leaned into Dean’s ear. “They’re looking at me.” He whispered the obvious, as if it were a secret.

Dean made a mental note to beat the shit out of whoever was in charge of the lighting, because the sudden red tinted spotlight that was shone on them was really unnecessary. 

Gabriel’s groan resonated through the room, bringing all eyes back on him. He bit down hard on his lower lip and licked it slick before he used what could only be called his bedroom voice.

“Would the incredibly tall, dark, handsome and no doubt chiseled God in the tight black shirt with the flowing mane do me.” He paused, smiling suggestively at the audience. “The pleasure of joining me on stage?” 

The eyebrows in the room shot to the air and into the silence, Jo’s whisper sounded, but did not reach the ears of the performer.

“Sam. Go.”

“N –no... I’d rather not.” He stuttered, despite the fact that he was still locking eyes with Gabriel.

“Believe me when I tell you that you can’t say no to this guy.” Jo explained urgently. “You have to go now or you’ll mess up the entire show.”

“Son, listen to the lady. Go now and he might make it easier for ya’. Just make you take your shirt off for the women or something, alright?” 

Benny’s soothing voice did wonders, not only on Sam who began his slow walk to the stage, but on Dean, who was now slightly less nervous about what might happen to his brother up there. Only slightly.

The angel’s smirk seemed to curl more sinister with every heavy step Sam took. Once he was at the very edge of the stage, Gabriel had already produced a fold out chair from thin air. 

“Take a seat. You’re gonna wanna sit down for this, busboy.” He said and winked to the crowd. 

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Jo’s eyes widen at the sight. Her mouth opened, closed and opened once more.

“Uh oh.”


	4. Vessel dearest

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 4- Vessel dearest

By, Unlucky-charm 

 

Dean’s thumb went to mouth, an old habit that resurfaced when he was nervous. Interestingly enough, he would only get nervous enough to gnaw at the skin around his nail when Sammy was concerned. Benny had been reassuring, but the combination of a chair with a stripper never lead to just a removing of a shirt for an audience. Despite what the soothing voice of the bartender said and what his brother believed, Gabriel was not clearly not the subtle type and hence, was not one to invite a waiter onto stage simply to make them sheepishly perform a striptease against their own will in fear of getting fired on the first day. All this to say that Dean was not reassured, not convinced and judging by the worried expression on Jo’s face and the pitiful head shakes of the other waiters, very apprehensive about what this particular angel was really about. 

While all the waiters were watching the scene with a mix of empathy and second hand embarrassment, Meg seemed unfazed, whirring around tables twice as fast since most of the staff was currently inactive at the time. She also seemed like the one who could give him the most honest answers, so the second she was about to dash by him, Dean grabbed her arm. 

“Hey.” She gave him a warning glare and wrenched herself out of his grip.

“What’s this mean?” He asked her, jerking his chin towards the stage where his brother was settling himself into the chair.

“Nothing you’re going to like.” She chuckled and tried to walk off, but Dean had her dragged back before she took her second step.

“Explain.” He growled.

She sighed. “It’s Gabriel. He follows his own whimsy.”

“So... what happens to Sammy up there?”

“It’s what happens to your brother up there that tells us what Gabe is up to.” She glanced at the stage. “Tall, tanned and a fixed baffled expression on his face? He’s his type.”

With that, she was gone and the other waiters slowly followed. The crowd thinned, but Dean stayed and watched.

“What’s your name newbie?” Gabriel asked, walking up behind the chair and running his fingers through Sam’s hair.

Dean watched his brother’s chest rise up and down as he took a deep breath and answered.

“Sam.”

-~-~-

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The angel had asked for a name, his name, but it was taking him some time to remember. 

‘My name... Dean. Dean is my brother. We are Sam and Dean. That makes me Sam? I am Sam. Right. I am Sam.’ He thought to himself, repeating his name over and over. Stage fright was something he struggled with since a young age when he had the misfortune of being cast as leading roles in school plays. He hated the hundreds of eyes concentrated on him as well as the lights blinding his own. He hated being on stage when he had his lines memorized, so one could imagine how much he hated it when he was caught off guard. But Gabriel was still looking at him, smirking, waiting for the answer.

“Sam.” He said. 

“My name is Sam.”

For a moment Gabriel stared at him, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to see right through him. 

“Sam. My name is Sam.” He repeated, running his hands down Sam’s chest before ripping his shirt open, buttons flying off the stage. “Sam I am.” He whispered into his ear.  
Cold air his Sam’s bare chest as Gabriel proceeded to remove his shirt entirely. His limbs had gone loose; he did not display resistance against the angel and before he knew it,  
Benny’s prediction came true, as did his worst nightmares. Sam was shirtless in front of an audience. 

The crowd, unhappy beforehand due to having their “Gabriel time” interrupted by an unwelcome distraction, seemed to soften up at the sight of Sam’s naked abdomen. 

“Nice tattoo.” Gabriel whispered, only for him to hear. 

Words and noises of consideration, contemplation and, to Sam’s dismay, approval arose from the audience. A small part of him was hoping they’d boo his off the stage, but that  
wasn’t happening anymore. Jo had been right; Gabriel was here purely for their entertainment and Sam had somehow become a prop. 

“This your first day, Sammy?” He asked, to which Sam said nothing but nodded in response. 

“What d’ya say folks? Doesn’t Sam deserve a warm Supernatural welcome?” 

The women in the crowd cheered, their hungry eyes digging into the side of Sam’s face (there was no way he was going to look straight at them, especially with the risk of meeting Dean’s gaze). With unexpected strength, Gabriel grabbed the back of the chair and sung it along with Sam around to face him. He leaned in close, running his lower lips across his jaw line to his ear.

“Did I say warm?” He whispered, his tone like syrup. “I meant hot.” Sam wasn’t sure if he was trying to be the corniest stripper on the planet, but if he was, he couldn’t understand why he covered the mic with his hand before speaking. What’s the point of an act if the audience can’t even witness it?

His breath hitched in his throat when he found his legs were trapped between Gabriel’s. With all the eyes on him, it’s not like he’d be able to move them anyway. His panic escalated as a Pepsi cap was placed on his head, revealing the angel’s blonde hair. It looked soft, but Sam tried not to think about that. Realistically, he couldn’t think about it, even if he tried, seeing as he had more important things to worry about, like the music getting louder and Gabriel getting closer. If he wasn’t corny enough, Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s get it on” blasting in his ears did the trick. Sam’s dread could be read on his face as the distance between them began to disappear. Gabriel’s hands slid over his abs up to his chest, stretching the blonde out against him and rubbing the zippers of their respective pants together. As much as Sam was not enjoying this, he knew the angel was teasing, bringing only the materials into contact and nothing else. For that, he was thankful, but then again, it made him all the more anxious about what was to come. What scared him the most was the fact that Gabriel was very obviously not wearing any underwear. If he were to strip any further...

It didn’t help that Sam’s body was on the verge of betraying him by ‘naturally responding’ to the angel’s touch, but he had lost all control. He only prayed that Gabriel would not notice in fear of him making a loud comment about it. The guy seemed to rejoice in Sam’s discomfort. In a desperate attempt to calm himself down, Sam forced the most unappealing images into his head. He thought of public toilets, road kill and even their friend Garth, but as the images worsened, Gabriel’s efforts grew. 

Gabriel held onto Sam’s waist and pressed them together. If only the guy’s face was slightly on the unattractive side, Sam though. He had no choice but to close his eyes and maybe even turn away (he even smelled amazing!). 

‘Down boy. Down.’ Sam mentally shouted to himself. He knew he wasn’t attracted to men, let alone this random stripper he just happened to have the misfortune of encountering, and he knew the tightening of his pants was due to the stimulation of that... area, but he could not help but try to hold himself back, to keep it cool and relaxed. 

As the angel’s fingers massaged his sides, a whimper escaped his lips. He couldn’t hold back, he was done fighting. Besides, there was no way a man so very clearly experienced in  
such fields wouldn’t have noticed his struggle by now. There was no use trying to hide it anymore.

“Hm.” Gabriel let out a short laugh. His lips curled into a lopsided smirk of satisfaction that caused Sam to close his eyes a fraction of a second after he dared open them. He felt the angel lean in closer and take his hands in his from the chair he was gripping so tightly.

“You might wanna hold on for this one, Sammy.” He growled into his ear as he brought Sam’s hands to his hips and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. 

Sam did not dare let go, especially when Gabriel literally sat down onto his lap, wrapping his legs around him as well as the chair. He held onto Sam’s shoulder with the hand exposed to the audience while the other hand slithered somewhere entirely different. 

That’s when Sam snapped out of his stupor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He hissed at Gabriel. Their faces were so close he was scared to move his lips in fear of the brushing that may occur. 

“Oh so now you’re talking.” He grinned and that’s when Sam noticed that the microphone along with the headset it was attached to had completely disappeared. “Smile. This is a show after all.”

“What could I possibly have to say to the guy giving me a lap dance against my will.” He hissed through a very tight smile he painfully managed to stretch across his face. 

“Well, you’re talking now...”

“That’s because your hands-“ Sam’s words got caught somewhere inside his mouth when the tightness of his pants loosened. If it hadn’t been for the loud music playing, Sam decided that he would have heard his zipper being undone. 

“Relax, they can’t see.” He nipped at his ear. “My arm and our thighs are in the way.”

“That’s not the point.” Sam groaned pathetically and looked away from Gabriel, only to meet the gazes of a crowd of adult women, their eyes shimmering dangerously bright with overexcitement. He gulped and went back to closing his eyes. 

Sam felt the waistband of his boxers being pulled down and cool air suddenly hit the head of his cock, the only area being exposed. 

‘He’s gone this far, you’d think he could go the entire way –Sam, what the fuck?! Shut up.’ The thoughts sped through his mind at lightning speed. He was not sure what he was thinking, why he was thinking it, what he should be thinking and what he actually wanted to think about. His train of thought was knotting itself into a messy web. 

The pad of Gabriel’s thumb began to rub the underside, massaging and coaxing the precum out and spreading it all over. He ran the side of his index over the slit and Sam shuddered under the touch. He was teasing again.

“There’s nothing wrong, with me, loving you.” The angel sang along to the track, humming against Sam’s neck. His head was hiding Sam’s expressions from the audience, but that wasn’t enough. His actual hands might have been hidden, but any idiot could figure out what was actually going on. They weren’t exactly in the most casual of positions. 

“Gabriel.” Same breathed. “Please stop.” 

“Why? You seem to like it Sammy.” He could hear the arrogant smile in his tone. The idiot really believed he was enjoying this. 

“That's not the point!” He growled angrily. “I swear, they’re going to see what you’re doing and –“

“Not if we distract them.” He pulled away from his neck and grinned down at Sam. “I like my hand where it is.”

“Distract them...? No. Gabriel, my brother is out there!” It was getting harder and harder to convince him to get off while keeping the stupid smile on his face. 

“It’s not fair that you get such a pretty face too.” He said, loud enough this time so that the audience can hear. 

“See? Now they’re looking at your face. Problem solved.” He went back to whispering.

“Yeah, but for how long.” Sam rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was up on a stage negotiating with a stripper who still, at the moment, had his fingers playing –very expertly might he add- with the tip of his dick. And as much as Sam wanted to chuck him into the crowd, his dick seemed to be enjoying the attention. Unfortunately for it, Sam was not Dean and made it a point not to listen to the reproductive organs of his body; they gave bad advice and had an awful habit of screwing you over instead of other people, like they should be doing. 

“For as long as I keep kissing you.”

“Wha –mmph!” 

Sam’s brain went haywire. He had Gabriel’s lower lip between his own and a second, unidentified tongue roaming around his mouth. The angel had gone straight for an open mouth kiss and Sam now found himself unmoving and yet, still somehow in the middle of making out with another man. The last thing he heard before his mind shut down were the dozens of gasps from the crowd. 

He wondered what they were so surprised about.


	5. Possession

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 5- Possession 

By, Unlucky-charm 

 

When Sam stumbled off that stage, he was met with a series of unsuitably formal handshakes which he robotically returned in his disoriented state. Moustached men simultaneously addressed him and Sam nodded to all of them. Whatever it was he was agreeing to, Dean doubted those were his true intentions. He recognized that bewildered look on his brother’s face; Sam wasn’t registering squat and being the polite young man that he was, he was giving each man a chance to talk to him. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t care much for civility. 

“All right, all right! Move aside, folks.” He shoved through the crowd until he got in between the patrons and his bewildered brother. “Leave the kid alone.”

He guided his brother back to the bar by his shoulders where Benny was already waiting for them with a very much needed shot of liquor ready. 

“There we go.” Dean grunted as he sat Sam down on one of the swivelling stools. “Now drink this.”

He brought the glass up to his lips and poured it down his throat.

"How're you feeling?" He asked. "You good?"

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam replied, his distant tone betraying his attempt at reassuring his brother. "Gabriel's just an attention whore, it was mostly the stage..."

"Yeah, I know Sammy. I saw you in Romeo and Juliet."

"I was 13."

"Yeah and I know for a fact that you still get nightmares." He paused, searching his brother's face for anything that might read post traumatic stress disorder. "Sammy, why'd you even go up there?"

"Figured it was part of the job." He shrugged. "Didn't want to cause problems on the first day." 

"Good call." Jo patted him on the back. "Hopefully that attitude will stay for day two and three."

Sam grinned because he had a thing for blondes, but Dean knew better. Dean knew women and that was not just about being a good employee. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked her before she got away, tray in hand. 

"Nothing. I'm just glad he'll be reacting just as well when this happens again."

"Wait, what? Again?" Even her blonde little head couldn't distract Sam from that one. 

"It's Gabe." She sighed. "He flirts with the female patrons, he's never called a waiter up there before. Never kissed anyone either..."

“So what the hell does that mean?” Dean said, instinctively stepping between Sam and everyone else. 

Jo hesitated and opened her mouth to speak, but it was not her voice that made the hairs on Dean’s neck stand it irritation.

“All hail the chosen one.” Meg laughed, creeping up behind Sam to lean against his arm. She looked remarkably small next to him, but Sam was the one being intimidated. “So where’d he brand you, huh? Where’s the mark?” She joked, pawing at his shirt and pants. 

“Mark?” Sam who didn’t understand metaphors panicked, searching his own body in turn. 

It was exactly as Dean had suspected. This ‘mark’ wasn’t physical, it was symbolic; Gabriel had labeled his brother as his personal chew toy and Dean had no idea how worried he   
was supposed to be. He could handle his brother getting winked at or sent kisses, but if this Gabe character was of the window stalker types, that gave him a rendezvous with   
Dean’s fist, important job or no job.

“Listen to me.” Dean pulled her off of his brother. “I don’t care how many times your angel friend metaphorically pees on my little brother, Sammy ain’t no one’s property, got it?”

“Don’t waste your breath on me, Ken doll.” She sashayed around Dean, out of his reach with Jo now between them. “If you want to submit a complaint, ask for the manager and even you newbies know how he can get.”

In fact, Dean did not know how Crowley could get, but he was in no mood to find out. Suddenly, he regretted no reading that employment contract they both signed. He wouldn’t be surprised to find stage time in the possible requirements if he were to check now. 

“Or,” She pursed her lips in fake thoughtfulness, tapping her index against her chin for the full, exaggerated effect. 

“What.” Dean spat impatiently. They needed to get back to work, get Sammy back on that floor like nothing had happened. Repression was not recommended by psychologists, but   
Dean had been brought up with the idea that there was nothing else one could possibly do with feelings.

“Oh I don’t know, nip the problem at the bud and confront our stripper friend who cut himself a big piece of that cake.” She explained, staring Sam down with hungry eyes and a   
soft pout of the lips. 

After violating his brother with her eyes, Meg snorted at Dean’s frown before strutting away to the kitchen. 

“Maybe I will!” Dean called after the swinging kitchen door. “Stupid... Barbie!”

“Dean.” He felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. 

He turned to see him shaking his head with a disappointed gaze pointed to the floor. 

“No?” He asked. He was never good at comebacks. 

“No.” His brother sighed, picked up an empty tray and went straight back to work. 

-~-~-

Sam Winchester could do nothing but provide tight smiles to the pitiful looks the other waiters gave him. He was fine, he really was, but he couldn’t exactly go up to every single worker and explain to them how terrified he was of being up on a stage, being observed by such a high number of people who expected so much from a show. So he smiled, as best he could without looking deranged or creepy, and served the drinks like he had lied he always did on his resume. He only wished his brother would stop looking so worried for him. He didn’t mind what Gabriel did, except that it was a complete violation of his person, where his comfort and consent were chucked out the window.  
There were jobs him and his brother had been forced to take when things got a bit troublesome in the financial department, jobs that could not even be compared to the one they had now. He’d take waiter over any of those other jobs. There was something playful and amusing about being groped and slipped numbers in a strip club that an office environment did not provide. At Supernatural, everyone seemed to be shameless, desensitized to inappropriate behaviour. It was no longer inappropriate if it was expected, which was probably why Sam felt comfortable having his ass pinched by customers, but blushed and babbled when his boss’s secretary cornered him in the printing room. He felt at ease here, even with Gabriel’s tongue shoved down his throat. While he felt helpless when his superior grinned his slimy business man smile and told him he ‘hoped to see more of him’, Gabriel having his hand down his pants did nothing more than surprise and, since they were on stage, embarrass him. All in all, in a place like this, that sort of thing was bound to happen.

What some called sexual assault was not what Sam was worried about. What Meg and Jo said was not what Sam was worried about and despite their predictions, he highly doubted that kiss had meant anything. Gabriel did not come off to him as the romantic type. In all honesty, there was nothing in particular that Sam was worried about; he usually left that task to his brother. Sam kept on working that night, all the way to closing time when him and Dean waved goodbye to their new coworkers and left the dim lit club, stepping into the dimmer light of the streetlamps. In the distance, if one were to look very closely at the horizon, they could see the beginnings of a 3:30 am sun crawling out of its bed. 

“Finally.” Said neither of the brothers. 

They followed the voice back to the outside walls of the club where the owner was leaning, his dark hair and black leather jacket camouflaging to near perfection against the bricks of the establishment and the night itself. The only bright thing about him was when he stared up at them from under thick lashes. His brilliant blue eyes glowed in the dark, very similar to the way they had sparkled on the stage. 

“Michael?” Dean raised his chin as if the man’s mere presence was offensive to him. 

“The delivery boys are allowed to leave slightly earlier than the rest of the staff.” He peeled himself off the wall and took a couple sluggish steps towards the boys. Now under the orange light of the streetlamps, the sharp edges of his face were defined. He was a real stunner, especially with that dazzling smile, also known as the second thing about him that shone.

Dean’s tough demeanor was crumbling into puzzlement, a cue for Sam to step in. 

“Delivery boy... that was serious?” Sam asked, stepping closer to the stripper in order to discreetly place himself between the two. Dean had a short temper when he was tired. 

“It was on the list of your duties, was it not?” He blinked.

“Yeah, but that was before we found out it was a strip club.” Dean cut in. “What the hell does a strip club need delivered anyway? You some kind of mail order whore?”

Michael’s eyebrows rose, but Sam proved to be faster than his mouth. 

“Um, excuse my brother he’s just tired and very confused.” He chuckled nervously, pushing his hand against his brother’s chest. He only needed him to back off for a bit and he   
could fix this. “And frankly so am I... Is it you were... delivering?”

The archangel seemed to soften. He gave Sam a quick once over and smiled lopsidedly. 

“My brother has chosen well. I’ll be sure to let him know.” 

“Chosen?”

“Dean, leave it.” He shushed his brother and turned his attention back to Michael. “So where do we take you?” He asked, sheepish only because of what the answer could possibly   
be. 

He was relieved when the response consisted of nothing more, nothing simpler than ‘home.’

In the car, Dean seemed to relax, mostly because Michael did not refrain from complementing Baby and partially because he happened to live rather close to their own place. Sam   
gave him shotgun and Dean didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he took it as an opportunity to play a round of twenty questions. 

“So when you say brother...” 

“Not actually. I refer to all of my coworkers as my brothers, but there’s no biological bond, no.”

“I see...” He didn’t. Sam knew he didn’t. This was just Dean’s way of getting to the real questions, a shortcut to address the elephant in the room (car). 

“So Gabriel...”

“Not my real brother.”

“Right.” He breathed. “Right, not your real brother. That’s interesting, I guess. Gabriel, I mean. He’s pretty interesting, wouldn’t you say Sammy?” He gave him a warning look   
through the rear view mirror and Sam sent daggers right back at him. 

“Yup. Real fascinating.” Sam had no choice but to agree.

“Yes, he does have that initial effect, but you’ll get used to him.” Michael smiled, but something devious gleamed in his eyes when he, in turn, glanced at Sam through the mirror. 

“I look forward to it.” Dean didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “So he the only one who uh, requires assistance from a member of the audience... or staff, I guess.”

“Yes... That’s sort of his thing.” Michael muttered, turning his head and entire body to face Dean. Sam saw his brother tense up under the gaze. “Dean, if this about what happened   
during Gabriel’s act today, let me assure you that nothing bad is going to happen to your brother.”

Unfortunately, his reassurance didn’t last very long. 

“Gabriel will simply pursue Sam, using very um... unique methods of courting.”

“Um, sorry what?” Sam leaned forward against the front seat. His voice had gone up a pitch in that short moment of panic. He cleared his throat and continued, trying to at least   
sound like he was calm. “For how long exactly?”

“Well, until he has you.” Michael frowned in amusement, a small curious smile playing on his lips. “Obviously.”

“Obviously?!”

“Oh, that’s it there.” Michael pointed a medium sized bungalow made of red brick. It was a nice, sturdy looking place, which made both brothers wonder about the strippers’   
salaries. 

“Wait a second there, Mike.” Dean stopped him. “What if, after all that pursuing you’re talking about, the very likely scenario of my brother rejecting yours plays out? How long will   
that take?”

Michael smiled, practically to himself, like he was in on a joke that the brothers weren’t.

“Gabe’s quite the persistent one.” 

-~-~-

When they finally got home, Sam and Dean took off their belts, opened their flies and unbuttoned their shirts in the middle of their living room. They shook themselves and patted   
each other down for phone numbers they had been slipped. Pieces of paper fell from belt loops, shirt collars and Sam’s hair. When they emptied their pockets, many more were found. When they counted, Dean was the victor by two phone numbers.

“Does this count as anything?” Sam asked, waving the Pepsi cap in front of Dean’s face.

“Throw that away, will ya’?” He stared at the hat like it was road kill he’d wrinkle his nose at. 

“Hell no. I don’t want Crowley cutting up my paycheck to pay for ‘stolen props’.” 

“Hm.” Dean took a swig from his beer. “Good call.”

Once Dean either believed or had convinced himself that his brother was going to be okay, he let his mind wander to thoughts that had taken the backseat after Sam's performance on stage. 

"Sammy." He called into the kitchen where his brother was preparing tea for himself. The beer and the exhaustion made his voice gruffer than he intended. 

"What?"

"I know you uh, went through some stuff tonight."

"I'm fine, Dean." He sighed and Dean practically hallucinated his signature bitch face appear before him. 

"I know, I know you are. It's just to say that I understand if you don't know..."

He wondered how many times he could mention this before Sam started asking questions. It's not like it was anything more than Dean's usual curiosity, but Sam would definitely   
look into it, try to find some meaning in his psyche. Even Freud said that sometimes a cigar was just a cigar. Sam never did understand that Dean's thoughts were just his   
thoughts.

"Don't make a big deal out of this, okay?" He added, just to be in the clear.

He heard his brother's footsteps get closer and soon, he appeared in the living room and waited for him to go on.

"You didn't happen to see that um... what was his name again?"

"Dean, you know his name. Stop it." Sam snapped. He got crabby when he was tired. 

"Right." Dean's eyes fell to the floor as he cleared his throat. When he looked back at his brother, he had his most casual expression on. 

"Did you happen to see that Castiel guy perform tonight?"

"I don't know... maybe? Why do you even care, Dean?"

Right, Sam was not in the mood. Dean decided to keep it short, but was a bit upset to have wasted the mention. If he were to bring it up again, then Sam would really start asking   
the shrink questions. Dean did not like to be psychoanalysed. 

"Right. Sorry I asked. Just curious I guess."

Sam was halfway down the hall when Dean heard his footsteps stop. His brother let out an exasperated breath and soon enough, reappeared in the living room. Dean could not help but smirk with some satisfaction. The taunting tilt of his head followed naturally. 

"I don't know what your deal is with the guy, but if it makes you feel any better, Raphael didn't perform either. I heard one of the women tell the other that it wasn't his night." He explained. "And I looked it up too, after you mentioned it first."

"What do you mean?"

"There is no archangel Castiel and for a club that recreates the church so accurately, it's weird that they'd mess up on a detail that a third grader could notice."

"So you think it's weird, right?" He had sounded too hopeful; Sam's suspicious frown deepened. 

"Yeah, I guess. But I'm not going to start an investigation. I'm sure there's an explanation. You could always ask someone."

"Nah, you're right. Forget I ever said anything."


	6. Silhouette

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 6- Silhouette 

By, Unlucky-charm 

Saturday was twice as busy and greeted a younger, more casual crowd. The women were scarce, but the new male faces made up for the lack of flirtations. The suit jackets were sportier and the shirts were bare; the ties had been left behind for the night. The ambiance was light and it made even the staff enter a easy going haze. Dean found himself laughing out loud instead of politely and flirting back if the man’s smile was dazzling enough. 

The night was going by like a blur, mostly due to the incense floating thickly in the air. After enough inhalation, both the patrons and the staff wore dizzy smiles. It also came to the brothers’ attention that the upper level was lit, unlike the previous night, tempting the richer men into buying a night with an angel. If one was to look closely long enough, they’d surely catch a few shadowy figures moving about. And if they were to listen closely enough, they’d hear the sound of heavy wooden doors creaking with discretion behind the louder music coming from the hidden speakers. 

At the bar, Dean allowed himself a few minutes to look around and take everything in. He could get used to this, he was practically high on the job. He could relate to Ash, one of the bus boys, who seemed to be on something illegal around the clock, which probably explained his choice in hairstyle; only intoxication could push a man into adorning a mullet. 

As his hooded eyes lazily glided across the room, dragging his gaze along with, he came to notice a small head poking out between the closed dark velvet curtains. The one he was pretty sure was called Samandriel mirrored Dean’s little activity of people watching, only he seemed to be looking for someone in particular. A blush painted itself shamelessly on the younger angel’s cheekbones when his eyes finally settled. Dean followed his gaze to a young looking man sitting alone in one of the booths. He was sipping uncomfortably on what was left of his beer and looked generally out of place with his brown leather jacket and jeans. Crowley would have no excuse not to kick this guy out on the curb, so there must have been something else behind it all. 

“So I hear you had your first delivery already.” 

He twisted his neck lazily so that his head hung like dead weight facing Jo who had appeared by his side. Her movements seemed to be as languid as his and at this point, like  
every other person’s in the club. 

“Yup. Michael.” He snorted. “What is up with that, though?”

“A few years ago, one of ‘em got ambushed by a client they had rejected on their way home. Crowley got pissed that one of his angels got hurt and forbade them from walking  
home.” She shrugged. “The rule says if ya’ got a ride, good. If ya’ don’t, don’t forget to tip the delivery boys.”

She grinned and poked his chest. “That’s you.”

Dean had wondered how a dollar bill had snuck its way into the back of his shirt collar last night. The idea of Michael as the culprit made much more sense than a patron with abnormally long limbs. 

On this particular evening, there seemed to be a change in the lineup, as Dean would say. The angels who had been the main attractions of the previous night gave the spotlight to a new set, one that the large number of men in the crowd seemed to prefer. Sure, they all swooned at Michael and healthily giggled at Gabriel, but there was one popular name that Dean picked up from all this volatile chatter and it belonged to no archangel.

Balthazar’s routine was quite the original one and yet, very much anticipated since when the curtains parted, Dean seemed to be the only one surprised to see a queen size wireframe bed under the dim bluish spotlight. On the other side of the stage, a figure sat cross-legged in an arm chair. There was no light that shone on his face, but the glow of the club’s candles were just bright enough to reveal the leather pants clinging to his slim legs and the glass of brandy wrapped in slender fingers. He drank slowly and in silence, up until the music started. 

Balthazar’s choice of song made up with sensuality for what it lacked in lyrics. Any words spoken, came out of his own mouth and that was only when he had finished his drink.  
The performer acted as though the routine was conforming to him and not the other way around; the music stalling until the last drop of brandy has disappeared down his throat and the spotlight patiently waiting in sidelines until he decided to get out of his chair. 

The bluish light glided across the stage and faded into a deep orange after having caught up with his steps, enveloping his body like he himself was radiating heat. Balthazar stood like the flame of a lit candle. His dark eyes and thin lips flickered under the gleam while his cheekbones and jaw line fought for prominence. 

As his gaze floated lazily around the room, the music grew more and more intense before coming to an abrupt stop. The entire crowd seemed to unconsciously lean over their tables in anticipation for the silence to be broken. 

“Good evening.” The thick British accent drawled all through the club, leaking with agonizing slowness like honey over the floor.

The patrons bent over themselves to listen in, began to melt back into their chairs, letting out one big united sigh of release. Dean was not sure what it was about the man, but something about his white pirate shirt hanging open around his chest gave him enough sex appeal to make even his facial hair seem more attractive. 

“Nice to see you back so soon.” He continued, looking straight into the crowd. For a moment, Dean’s gut clenched, thinking his brother was being addressed yet again, but the angel’s hooded stare dipped with a loose tilt of his head towards the bed. “I missed you, you know.”

A few cheers and whistling sounded from the crowd as the music started up again, following Balthazar’s heavy pace, making his way to the foot of the bed. The orange light did not leave his side and went on to take over the blue of the bed. Now, with a brighter view of the bed, Dean was taken aback once he noticed that what he thought were bundled up sheets was actually a person covered in an array of blankets. It took but one swift swoop on Balthazar’s part and fabrics flew to the ground. 

“Did you miss me, Castiel?” 

//

Dean could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, but wasn’t exactly sure how to make it stop. Looking away would be a good option, it would definitely calm him, cool him down, but watching the scene on stage was like watching a scary movie; you know you should look away, but you just can’t and in all honesty, you don’t really want to either. 

The music got louder and louder, instruments adding to the orchestra that had started off with nothing but a light piano in the background at the beginning of Balthazar’s performance. One blare of trumpet and he had torn his shirt off; cymbals, and he had pulled his pants off; teasing of some keys and the waistband of his tight red boxer shorts were hanging dangerously low. He made no move to pull them up; fleeting thoughts of tongues running over hipbones flew across Dean’s mind, too fast for him to consider.

“Tell me, love. What are you doing in that corner there?” The angel asked the other. “The nice people here want to see you.”

With no effort whatsoever, Balthazar grabbed a metal bed post and dragged the entire structure, along with its prisoner, to the front and center of the stage. A few seconds later,  
Dean came to the realisation that ‘prisoner’ had been an appropriate term, since Castiel was, indeed, tied up. He didn’t even try to escape his bounds when his fellow angel  
climbed into bed with him. Balthazar straddled his hips and ran a single index finger across the dead center of his chest, down to his toned stomach. They kept their gazes locked tight throughout, Balthazar smirking arrogantly and Castiel wearing his lack of expression with impressive rigidity. 

Balthazar had to move more than his finger to elicit anything out of the captive and even though Castiel’s irritated grunts barely reached Dean’s ears, it wasn’t a passing draft that prickled his skin with goose bumps. Now irritated himself, Dean, rubbing his hands over his arms to warm them, decided he should be doing his job and serve some tables... the front row seemed to be needing refills.

The tables below the stage were not his job and Dean wasn’t sure how territorial Meg would get if she saw him, but he needed to get a closer look at the mysterious performer. To him, there had to be something special about Castiel if he was being falsely dubbed an archangel.

The lighting only allowed him a silhouette, while Balthazar was rather well lit. Nevertheless, Dean settled for the outline of straight nose and strong mouth. With a tilt of the angel’s head, the bluish light drew the border of a defined jaw line. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, which unleashed a short chain reaction as Dean gulped in response. 

There was something implausibly erotic about Castiel, something he wasn’t sure Crowley was seeing himself, or else Castiel would have been occupying center stage instead of being a prop. He couldn’t understand how such potential was going unnoticed. What frustrated him even more was the crowd; he wondered if he could politely inform the patrons that their eyes were glued on the wrong angel, that the real talent was tied to a bed, moaning. 

“Lost, Ken doll?” 

It was fun while it had lasted, but it was unavoidable. Meg had come to reclaim her turf back and Dean knew she’d fight him if he made her. 

“Huh?” He played dumb. “Oh, sorry. Must have wandered off.”

“I would believe you if you had any drinks with you.” She stared him down and then glanced over his shoulder to the stage. “Oh, I see.” She snorts.

“What.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Castiel, eh? Guess your taste is better than I gave it credit for. I’m gonna have to give the boss a new report.” 

“What? Report what?” Dean panicked and stormed after her when she walked away. He knew he was breaking some kind of rule, disturbing the guests’ ambiance by frantically whispering at their waitress, but he needed this job and he needed to know what exactly was being reported. “I didn’t do anything to him.” He added, just in case, but was only  
rewarded with yet another snort.

“You have a good eye, Ken. It takes some experience in the business to see something like that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

They had now stopped at the bar. Benny leaned in to listen to the argument, all the while mixing drinks. 

“What were you doing all the way up there?” She asked him.

“Nothing. I told you, I wandered off.”

She eyed him, as though waiting for another response to her question, and sighed when she didn’t get one. 

“What? Tell me!” Dean was losing patience. 

“Be honest.” She snapped. “What were you doing there?”

“Just tell her. It’ll be easier on you.” Benny chimed him with a pitiful smile. Dean didn’t appreciate the pity, but he felt better knowing that at least someone in this loony bin had his  
back.

“I wanted to see the angel on the bed.” He muttered and looked away. He figured he’d sound obsessive if he knew him by name. 

“Castiel. Castiel is Crowley’s well kept secret.” Meg explained in an as a matter of fact manner. 

“Not much of a secret if he’s on stage like that.” Dean pointed out, but it was another excuse for him to stare at the stage once more.

“Yes, but notice how the spotlight isn’t on him.”Benny spoke. “It’s all very subtle. Like... you like what you’re seeing, but you don’t know why...”

Dean felt a bit uncomfortable, talking in such depth about strippers. And even though he was nodding along, he had no idea what the bartender meant about subtly. 

“They think they like Balthazar, but what they actually want it to be him.” Meg said. “Castiel is a perfect bottom. Perfect movement, perfect noises, perfect expression. Remove him and Balthazar is just a handsome looking man dry humping a bed.”

“So the crowd actually likes... Castiel?” Dean frowned. “But Baltha –“

“It’s simple, brother. The light ain’t on him. It’s on Balthazar. The crowd’s loving the show. But what is it they see? Balthazar. So they think they like Balthazar, when they’re actually  
identifying with him.” 

Dean glanced once at Benny and then once at Meg before turning to the stage to apply this new learned theory. He found that it was pretty accurate. He found that Castiel was an  
important piece to the show, but had to be placed strategically. You couldn’t show off Castiel, you had to display him. He was the object on subconscious desire of an entire crowd;  
every male gawking at the stage wanted their way with him, although they didn’t know it. 

“He is doing a pretty good job, I guess.” Dean pretended to admit something he had noticed a good ten minutes ago. How could he not have noticed? The arch of that back when the angel on top failed to grind their hips together hard enough. The flex of biceps when he tried to break through his bonds to touch Balthazar. The way his teeth ground together when he was being teased. The way sweat glistened at his temples, plastering the wet hair around his ears to his skin. 

Dean wondered if they would be having full on sex on stage, but was sure that would a bit too grotesque, even for this place. As perverse as the concept of Supernatural was, nobody could deny its class. 

It occurred to him that he could have asked Meg or Benny about the archangel title Castiel was wrongly given, but the two had left him to stare and had gone back to work. 

//

The delivery service turned out to be closed for the night, so Sam and Dean got to ride straight home, in peace, in each other’s comfortable company. Dean didn’t have much to say to his brother or just didn’t want to. Nothing eventful happened at work anyway, and even if it had, Sam would have witnessed it. Besides, Dean wasn’t even close to comfortable enough to tell his brother about his little gay moment in front of the stage. While Meg was courteous enough not to inquire further on Dean’s curiosities concerning Castiel, his brother would definitely interrogate him on the matter. 

“I asked around for you, you know.” Sam said all of a sudden.

“Asked what?” Dean had an idea of what his brother was talking about. It matched the theme of his entire night, after all. 

“About Castiel. I asked workers and some customers too.” He said, trying to hide the pride welling up in him. 

“And?”

“The only thing I got from the workers was his name and the fact that Crowley really likes him. They didn’t say why or what made him so special, but that’s what I was told.” He  
explained. “As for the patrons, they call him “The Tease”.”

“Tease? Why, is that his specialty after hours?”

“That’s the thing, he doesn’t even do after hours!” Sam said. “He makes the crowd fall in love, but when he is asked for a night alone, he refuses. He doesn’t sleep with them, Dean.”

“Maybe some of them just don’t?” 

“Then why is he the only one with a nickname like that.” Sam had his thinking face on.

“I don’t know, Sammy.”

Sam was silent for the rest of the ride, but Dean did not fail to notice the many times he opened his mouth to speak. He did not ask questions, because he knew his brother and he  
knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer. It was only when they got home and were relaxing in front of the television that Sam, as expected, spoke up.

“The customers told me something else too.”

“What’d they tell you, Sammy.” Dean sighed, getting up to get another beer.

“Well, there was this table of guys that come to the club religiously. They try to make an appearance every Saturday if they can, they even have their own table.”

“So?”

“So? I overheard them reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ when Balthazar was their waiter.”

If Dean had been dozing off earlier in the conversation, he definitely wasn’t anymore.

“He was a waiter.” He repeated.

“They all were, Dean.” Sam said, his little worried frown settling over his eyes. Dean didn’t like that frown. That frown was the announcement of bad things to come and Dean did  
not like where this was going. 

“We’re waiters.” He stated. 

“Yes we are.”

“Meg’s a waiter.” He pointed out.

“Meg’s also a woman.” Sam sighed.

“Son of a bitch.”


	7. Magic Trick

 

 

They did not speak about it again. They did not speak about it amongst themselves. They did not speak about it amongst the other waiters and they most certainly did not mention it to Crowley. If they were wrong about it, they wouldn’t want to put ideas in the club owner’s head. Dean was not one to brag. In fact, he was his number one critic, but that did not make him blind. He knew that he and Sam were not the ugliest men on earth, not even close and if Crowley didn’t have future plans for them on stage, the last thing Dean wanted was to be the reason it crossed his mind.

So they silently came to a mutual agreement to start playing things a little low key. Sam stopped asking around about the performers and Dean stopped (or at least tried to stop) gawking at Castiel every time he appeared on stage, which proved to be a very difficult pleasure to resist.

The thing about Castiel, Dean came to realise, was that he was one hundred percent raw in his performance. While the other angels acknowledged the audience, sending them winks, flashing them smiles and sometimes even addressing them, Castiel remained in his own element at all times. It was as though he was actually sharing an intimate moment with his fellow performer in a private bedroom of their own, instead of a stage facing dozens of cheering patrons. If Castiel was the same in bed as he was on stage, Dean could fully sympathize with his fans; ‘tease’ is a very appropriate title, at least more accurate than ‘archangel’.

Another reoccurring element of Castiel was that he was never on stage alone. He always seemed to be an assistant or, one could go as far as to say, a prop. Indeed, a very needed and very pretty accessory, but an accessory nonetheless. Dean was not sure if that bothered him or just turned him on.

On one late afternoon, Dean woke up to find his brother sitting at the kitchen table with a tower of no, not breakfast he had made like the good housewife he was, but piles and piles of books.

“Library books.” He specified. “Old records, to be exact.”

“And what the hell are you doing with old town records at this hour?” Dean inquired rather distastefully, adding a disgruntled grunt after realising that Sam hadn’t made breakfast at all.

“So get this. Supernatural used to be a restaurant until Crowley bought it.”

“You’re researching our work place?!” Dean snapped, letting the refrigerator door slam shut. “What for?”

“It says here in this newspaper article that Crowley bought out the place more than ten years ago and kept most of the staff by offering them new jobs with higher pay.”

Sam turned the page and whistled in astonishment. The black and white picture was of the newly night club transformed Supernatural restaurant with its ex waiters and bus boys standing proudly at its feet. Crowley stood at the very center of the group of boys in aprons and waiter uniforms with his arm around the two at his sides. Closer observation explained Sam’s reaction because the more Dean examined the faces, the more he recognized them. None of them looked at day over 21, some had probably not even reached adulthood yet and there they were. Dean wondered if they knew back then, that they’d end up dancing naked for perverts in monkey suits in the very near future. Dean wondered if those kids knew they’d be selling their bodies and hitching rides with the waiters so they wouldn’t get attacked. Dean also wondered how fast Gabriel lost that baby fat and how long it took Castiel to make that bright smile painted over his face fade away. Dean questioned many elements of the picture, but mostly, was saddened by it. They were so young in the photo, it was almost disgusting to look at their faces and think about what they did now.

“It was still a restaurant then.” Sam was quick to explain after having seen his brother’s reaction. “They were only waiters.”

He turned the page and there was a new picture, this time with text on the bottom. It seemed to be a newspaper clipping, not too old either. Maybe six to seven years old. This photo was taken inside the club itself, specifically, the stage, on which stood Michael singing passionately into a microphone, eyes closed and everything. He was not naked, nor was he wearing any of the costumes the performers when through during the week. The future angel looked dashing in his three piece suit.

“This is where it went downhill.” Sam said and shut the book. “There are no more articles after this, but I think when that picture was taken, Supernatural was more of a cabaret. Michael still looked pretty young...”

“From bus boy, to waiter, to cabaret performer , to stripper, to downright prostitute?”

“My guess exactly.” Sam sighed. “The question is how.”

Dean turned away, shaking his head. He would only start pacing when he got nervous and he only paced angrily when he was _very_ nervous.

“Dean.” He did not even glance at him. “Dean, I’m done tiptoeing around this. We’re both thinking it and I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been a very good dancer.”

“We’re not stripping, Sammy. Never. I won’t let that happen.”

“I really wish we had read that contract more carefully.” Sam groaned into his palms.

“I read it once, that was enough. I saw nothing about the removal of clothing.”

 “But Dean –“

“Look, I know Crowley is our boss and everything, but it’s still just a job. We can always quit if lines get crossed. Now stop bitching and grow a pair, if Crowley wants us up on that stage then sucks to be him.”

Despite Dean’s confident attitude, neither of the brother’s seemed very convinced of what he had said. Sure, waiting on tables was nothing but another job, but neither of them could deny that Crowley was no ordinary boss. They weren’t sure why, but just handing in their aprons if things got tough was starting to seem harder and harder. Sam and Dean Winchester did not believe in foreshadowing and yet, were not blind to their reflections dancing on stage. They feared whatever force kept those boys from leaving Supernatural years ago would keep them just as well.

They skipped breakfast, lunch, as well as dinner and agreed on a quick nap. They had work in a couple of hours.

//

“Cas.”

Bang.

“Cas.”

_Bang._

“CAS!”

BANG.

Castiel was very much aware of his so called brother rapping at his changing room door but was in no mood to answer it. Tonight was his night off, meaning all he had to do was make an appearance during roll call, pick up his paycheck and head on home to their two bedroom bungalow where Gabriel would later join him. Castiel knew that if he opened that door now, he’d end up working for an extra night instead of watching Hannibal reruns. Gabriel could be very persuasive, of course, if you counted bribery and blackmail as persuasion.

“CAAAAAASSSS.” He whined and slid down the door, a squeaking noise sounding through the wood.

“No. Go away.”

“You don’t even know –“

“You need me for something that involves me staying longer than I have to and my answer is no.”

“But baaaaaabe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“BAAAAAAABE.”

It wasn’t because Gabriel sounded like he was slowly dying or choking on his own spit that Castiel opened the door, but shear curiosity. He only allowed a thin opening though, small enough so that his co worker couldn’t get his foot in the way. Castiel picked up these tricks through years of living with Gabriel.

“What is it, Gabe?” He asked, trying to sound as disgruntled as possible, which was hard seeing as Gabriel was on his knees in front of him. There was something oddly satisfying about it.

“I need you for my act.”

Obviously, Castiel sighed to himself.

“Need me in the background or need me like Balthazar needs me?” He asked, rolling his eyes at the thought of the latter. “’Cause I don’t think I’m very comfortable with that.”

“Ew no.” Gabriel grimaced in disgust, like he had just eaten something horribly sour. “You know, I feel like Balt requests your assistance for his own pleasure rather than entertaining the audience.”

Castiel made it a point not to answer that one and instead stared at his brother as blankly as he always did.

“Does he get hard?” Gabriel whispered, a mischievous smile curling his lips.

“I’m not answering that.” He answered plainly. “Now what the hell do you need me for so bad that you, Gabriel with the ego as big as Texas,  feel the need to beg.”

“I just thought of an act.” He said and was about to continue, but Castiel was faster.

“Just? Just as in... a week ago?”

“More like a minute.” Gabriel cringed, ready for the rejection that would surely follow.

“No. No way, Gabe. You know Crowley’s rules.”

Everybody knew Crowley’s rules and everybody also knew that Gabriel was always first in line to break them. No improvisation was one of them. If you have a good idea, you have to run it by the other angels, rehearse it for at least a week, depending on the routine’s complexity and then perform it once, as a test run. If you had Crowley’s approval after all that, you could perform it again.

“I know, I know, but he won’t know it’s improvised if it doesn’t _look_ improvised.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Gabe, you know very well that –“

“C’mon bro. Just you and me. You know I’m good at this stuff and all you have to do is stand next to me and look pretty.” He grinned, fluttering his blonde lashes as a way to mimic Castiel looking ‘pretty’.

“I don’t have to say anything?” Castiel sighed. For some reason, he couldn’t say no to this guy and for some reason, he seemed to be the only angel with the defect.

“Nothing. You won’t even have to move except when you hand me things and escort the designated member of the audience to the stage.” He shrugged.

“Member...? Oh God, are  you gonna harass that waiter again.” Castiel complained. He hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes, but it was what everyone talked about for the following few days. He hadn’t even seen him yet, but knew that the poor guy was new at the job.

“The very same. Know which one?”

“Yes.” Castiel rolled his eyes for the thousandth time. It wouldn’t be hard not to spot a new, handsome face at Supernatural. They rarely got any new staff.

//

The drum roll was new and as Dean looked around, everyone else seemed to be as surprised as he was.

“New routine.” Meg muttered and she sashayed passed Dean. It’s like that chick can read minds, Dean thought. She always seemed to appear with an answer every time a question popped into Dean’s head.

There was no music and no other sound other than the hissing coming from the smoke machines currently set on overdrive. The machinery was producing exaggeratedly thick, white puffs of smoke that clouded the entire stage. It took the smoke a good ninety seconds to slightly clear, enough to decipher the two figures clad in dark clothing behind it. It took another thirty seconds for Dean to recognize Gabriel and then another ten to recognize, with greater awe, Castiel.

“Ladies! Gentlemen! Welcome!” Gabriel’s voice boomed against the walls. “To the magic show!”

A few cheers and giggles sounded through the crowd. Castiel rolled his eyes. Dean smiled.

“I am...” He twisted his cape around himself for dramatic effect before shouting into his microphone headset.

“THE GREAT GABRINI!”

A few exaggerated gasps sounded, but mostly, everyone was murmuring to one another in confusion. Dean had to muffle his snorts of laughter with his hand, but he still turned a few heads. He was getting red in the face. It was just too funny. Gabrini? Seriously? Part of him was hoping he’d call Sam onto stage again.

“And this,” he said, motioning to Castiel who was standing confidently on his left, all bare abdomen, tight black slacks and matching bow tie. Dean shivered.

“Is my lovely assistant, Castiel.”

Castiel forced a smirk and waved at the audience. It was clear he did NOT want to be there, which made Dean wonder what he was getting from Gabriel in return. After all, today was his day off (although Dean would never admit he knew that through his own, personal research).

Dean spent most of Gabriel’s performance shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and amusement as the angel pulled out a string of thongs from the open fly of his pants, pulled a dildo out of his top hat and packets of lube from behind Castiel’s ear. The latter was on the verge of giving his co worker a dirty look; that smirk was not genuine in the least, which got Dean snorting out laughs again.

When Gabriel announce his final act, it came as a surprise to everyone, especially since his previous acts had barely lasted five minutes in total.

“I will now ask my lovely assistant to venture into the audience and bring me the finest, most handsome waiter on the floor tonight.” Gabriel winked at Sam from the stage. “He knows who he is.”

Dean tried to make eye contact with his brother, but he was too busy blushing and pretending to be unfazed by the sudden attention concentrated on him. Basically, every pair of eyes in the establishment was religiously following Sam as he continued to serve tables, feigning complete ignorance.

That is, every pair except for two, gloriously blue orbs who apparently didn’t get the memo and were currently making a bee line towards the wrong brother.

When Castiel took hold of Dean’s arm, Dean wanted to shout. In fact, Dean would have shouted if it weren’t for the warmth of the angel’s open palm burning through the flesh of Dean’s bicep. He felt as though he were branding him, scorching an imprint of his hand right under his shoulder.

However, it wasn’t like Dean was completely out of it, like his brother had been. He did struggle, only slightly, in an attempt at letting Castiel know that he was pulling at the wrong guy, but two things stopped him from trying any harder. First, the priceless look of disbelieving outrage boiling on Gabriel’s face and secondly...

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Castiel pulled Dean hard up against him when he tried to escape and whispered into his ear. The angel was stronger than he looked. Much stronger, in fact. He was dragging Dean around like a rag doll who helplessly drooled over those naked biceps of his.

_But that voice though._

It tugged at Dean like the rumble of an old engine. Rough and yet, it washed over him like thick syrup. For such a pretty faced, angelic being, Castiel’s tone was guttural, deep and overall, painfully erotic. Not to mention the steaming hot, wetness of his breath blowing softly against his ear. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight; even they wanted to get as close to the mysterious Castiel as possible.

Besides, only a voice like _that_ could make Dean follow a half naked man onto a magician’s stage.

Come to think of it, only a voice like _that_ could get a person to deserve the title of archangel. Dean had never heard an archangel speak before, but he imagined they probably sounded like Castiel: strong and drawing.

Once on stage, Dean decided to make the most of it. He grinned brightly at Gabriel who looked beyond mortified. He sent a glance towards the audience and winked at his brother who wore an expression of overjoyed surprised. He was probably ecstatic for having gotten out of this one and Dean was more than happy to help out.

“So, what’s your great finale Gabrini?” Dean asked, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

Gabriel wasn’t even trying to hide his nasty glare, which was shocking for a guy who aimed to please the audience.

“Strap him.” He ordered Castiel through grinding teeth without even tearing his eyes away from Dean who did not like the sound of that at all.

With an exaggerated sigh, Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and guided him to the back of the stage.

“Come on, big boy.” He said, pushing him against the back wall with the tips of his fingers. Dean could have melted into a pool of liquid at this guy’s feet, but he refrained from doing so when the spotlight shifted toward him.

He and Castiel were brightly lit and now, so were the leather straps hanging from the wall. Before he could protest, his personal angel for the night already had one of his wrists tightly bound.

“Don’t worry, Gabe’s a pro.” He whispered as he strapped the rest of his joints to the wall.

“So... Handsome eh? You think I’m... handsome?” Dean changed the subject, flashing his most charming grin  at the angel kneeling at his ankles.

“Relax bus boy, Gabe does. Nobody said anything about me.” He rolled his eyes again and Dean noticed how much he seemed to enjoy doing so. Castiel seemed like the type of smart ass surrounded by idiots all the damn time, which made him into a bitter old man who rolled his eyes at every second word anybody ever said.

“Actually, you just said a lot about yourself by choosing me.” Dean chuckled.

“Listen Sam, before the show, my brother asked me to bring him the new waiter he harassed last time. That’s all I did.” He hissed, irritated, into his face. But Dean couldn’t help but smile. This was too god to be true.

“See now, Castiel, baby, darling.” Dean purred. “If you turn your pretty little head around at about 2 o’clock, you’ll spot a tall sasquatch staring straight at us.”

Castiel seemed to hesitate for a second, but ended up glancing in the right direction. Dean was almost satisfied just by the sudden widening of his eyes. Almost...

“Is that waiter not new as well?”

“Yes...”

“I’m flattered you assumed I was the handsome one. I mean wow, you went straight for me. Looked nowhere else.” Dean practically sang into the angel’s beautiful face. He was truly enjoying himself and Castiel was blushing furiously, which was a just heavenly, in Dean’s opinion.

“Aw, don’t get upset.” Dean cooed. “Just turn around, get one more good look at him. He’s smiling right at you!”

Castiel turned to look at Sam again, a worried expression falling over his face as he slowly realised the possible mistake he had just made.

“Castiel, I’d like you to meet my brother. Sam.”

At the name, Castiel’s head snapped back to him, a look of sheer horror disfiguring his features.

“But... –“

“Hi.” He grinned. “I’m Dean. I’d shake your hand, but I’m sort of tied up at the moment.”

Castiel opened his mouth but his retort fell short because Gabriel had just finished explaining the trick to the audience and was ready to perform. One glance at his fellow angel and Castiel’s expression took a malicious turn. The angel flashed Dean an eerie, Cheshire cat smile. He looked absolutely deranged, which made Dean feel very uncomfortable with the fact that his dick happened to just twitch in his pants.

“Let’s hope you don’t get cut.” He purred, only an inch away from his mouth. His exhale, like liquid sex, entered Dean’s mouth and became the best inhale he knew he’d ever breathe. “He hasn’t been practicing, he’s rusty by a few years.”

And with that, Castiel stepped out of sight and Dean was faced with an irritated Gabriel in a magician costume holding –Dean gulped – a bunch of star shaped throwing knives.

There seemed to be another two dozen laying at his feet.


	8. Dinner?

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 8- Dinner?

By, Unlucky-charm 

 

“Castiel, would you please?” 

As if Dean wasn’t panicking already, Castiel stood behind Gabriel and drew a black velvet blindfold over his eyes. 

It went down exactly like his first hair cut. He was strapped to that wall like he had been sat in that chair, waiting in fear of the inevitable sharp object that would soon appear way too close to his face. And just like his hair cut, while he had been anticipating slow and painful snips of scissors, Gabriel turned out to be as fast as his barber. The flying knives hit the wall behind him in rapid thuds, sometimes two at the same time and while some were uncomfortably close to his body, others were at a distance. Dean could not clearly see from his angle, but he had a feeling that the angel had followed a pattern when aiming. His suspicion was confirmed when the crowd started hooting and whistling, some women even went as far as covering their mouths in surprise. 

Dean craned his neck in an attempt at seeing what Gabriel had depicted with his knives, but it was no use. His brother’s blush and look of absolute embarrassment made him all the more anxious. It was only when he started tugging at his bonds that Castiel appeared to free him. 

“What happened?” Dean asked him. 

“See for yourself. Nothing Gabriel wouldn’t do, of course.” Castiel said, looking up at Dean from the floor where he was kneeling, his blue iris even more shockingly bright against   
the enlarged white of his eyes. Dean swallowed hard, pushing down the saliva as well as the dirty thoughts that had gathered in his mouth and mind. 

The first thing Dean did when he was freed was jog off the stage before Gabriel asked him to take a bow. The second thing he did was try and not laugh at the message Gabriel had skillfully printed on the wall with his throwing knives. With a rough total of 35 steel knives shining brightly under the spot light, the angel has managed to ask Dean’s brother out in the most publically humiliating way possible. As much as Dean disliked him, he thought it was absolutely brilliant.

“Sam, dinner?” He read the words out loud too himself. The use of knives as writing equipment made the letters choppy and primitive looking, but the words were clear. He was asking Sam out to dinner and now the entire club was staring at him waiting for his answer that surely would not be as flashy and impressive as Gabriel’s question. 

//

“The wrong brother!” He shouted for the sixth time, which in Castiel’s opinion, was six times too many. 

“You told me to bring you the new waiter. The finest and most handsome waiter on the floor that night. You didn’t tell me there were two! How the fuck am I supposed to know which one is the one YOU find good looking!” Castiel snapped back. They were making a scene, which was nothing new for the changing room walls to be witnessing, but Castiel rarely got into fights with his coworkers and did not appreciate the quiet eyes staring at them in the middle of it.

“Sam! I like Sam!”

“I thought he was Sam!”

“That’s Dean!”

“Gee thanks, Gabriel. I hadn’t realised yet!” He spat sarcastically, earning himself a few chuckles from Lucifer who was fixing his hair nearby. 

“This isn’t over.” Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

“It most certainly is. I’m going home.” Castiel announced and began to walk away. 

“Oh yeah? How? I’m you’re ride home and I ain’t going nowhere.” He said, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Give me the keys.” Castiel hissed.

“What? Hell no.” He smirked sadistically and fell back into the arm chair behind him. 

“I’m walking.”

“You know very well you’re not allowed. Especially not you. Crowley will throw a fit.” Gabriel said as he took out the car keys and handed them to Samandriel who gave Castiel a sincerely apologetic look. 

Samandriel and his boyfriend lived two streets down from them. They sometimes dropped him off home when the boyfriend was working late or was out of town. 

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.” He informed Samandriel who walked away without meeting Castiel’s betrayed glare. 

“How the hell are we getting home then?” He asked, even though he knew the answer very well.

“We’re gonna be delivered.” He explained. “To make up for your mistake on stage tonight.”

“What? How is sitting in a car with Ash going to make up for that?” Castiel’s voice rose in outrage, but he settled down, somewhat confused, when Lucifer and Gabriel exchanged amused smirks between themselves. He had seen those looks before. They usually meant there was something he was missing. 

//

“I’m not answering him.” Sam repeated, despite the many times Benny informed him that doing so was a terrible idea.

“Sam-“

“Benny, if I tell him no, is he going to stop?” 

Benny pressed his lips together into a straight line and gently shook his head.

“Exactly, so I’m better off not answering him.”

Sam was handling the whole thing surprisingly well. He kept his expression stoic, smiled politely at the customers and did his job like he did every night. Nobody could reproach him of anything and if Gabriel was mentioned, he would blatantly change the subject. Sam had a growing problem on his hands and Dean was slowly regretting having taught him how to avoid one. 

“Or you could just go to dinner with him, satisfy his whimsy and then move on.” Jo tried. What she was saying made perfect sense of course, but realistically, Sam was nowhere near accepting Gabriel’s invitation. 

It had become a matter of dignity at this point and when it came to pride, Dean knew his brother well. They might not be from the best family, but the Winchesters were rarely first to give in. Gabriel was going to have to work harder or, hopefully, throw in the towel first. 

“Forget it, Sam. Just let him do his thing. Guys like him get bored easy.”

“Or resort to drastic measures.” Jo added, shooting Dean a worried glance that he pretended he didn’t see. 

Dean was just relieved the night was over. Some of the patrons had already started putting their coats and hats back on or sending their husbands to fetch the car. If he remembered correctly and if they were still following the same schedule, Lucifer was next. For some reason, Dean was more exhausted than usual. Part of him was hoping that there would be no angels to deliver so he could go home early. Specifically, he hoped Michael would need a lift since he was relatively quiet and lived near their own house. 

When Lucifer was finished, the crowd gave him a standing ovation as always before they all headed towards the door like a heard of sheep. Jo and Meg stood at the door wishing them each a good night. Dean waited for the mass of guests to clear up before going outside to check if any angels were in need of a lift home. He would prefer being informed in advance or at least being told on the spot instead of having to step outside and check if any strippers were hanging around waiting for him. 

This time, two angels were waiting for him on the side of the building, away from the prying eyes of the patrons, bickering away.

“God damn it.” Dean said when he recognized Castiel.

“Oh look, it’s not Sam.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Alright listen. First of all, it’s not my problem if you find me handsome and don’t know who my brother is.” He said, looking directly into Castiel’s eyes who, to Dean’s surprise, did   
not even flinch. “Second, my car, my rules. So I don’t want either of you saying anything I don’t wanna hear. And yeah, I’m talking about you, Gabe.”

“Wait a fucking second.” Castiel growled at his brother through his grinding teeth. “Dean’s the new delivery boy?”

“And Sam!” Gabriel grinned like an excited child, completely ignoring Castiel who Dean was afraid would soon strangle his co worker. 

Dean thought it best not to tell his brother about their passengers for the night until he pulled up at the bar’s entrance to pick him up. He couldn’t argue much with the both of them present, even though Dean knew he would pretty much end up complaining about it when they got home anyway. 

When Dean drove up to the entrance of the club, his brother began to chuckle maliciously at the sight of Castiel sitting in the front seat. It took him crawling into the back seat and shutting the door behind him to realise that he would not be able to stretch his legs out like he always liked to do when he sat in the back. 

“No. Stop the car.” He protested, trying his hardest to either open the car door or fuse himself to it in an attempt at escaping Gabriel, who in turn was slowly inching towards him on the seat.

But Dean had locked the doors the second Sam had gotten in and was already driving down the main road towards their houses. 

“Took you some time to notice him.” Dean snorted.

“Shut up. He had his head down.”

“Sam, go out with me.”

“And how come Castiel is sitting in the front?” He went on, completely disregarding Gabriel’s invitation and advances. Dean was impressed with his brother’s ability to ignore the angel’s fucking hand running up and down his thigh. 

“He called shotgun.” Dean shrugged. “Not like he’s a bad change of scenery either, after having to stare at your ugly mug for years.”

Castiel sneaked him a wink, but did not notice when Dean swallowed hard. 

“Sam. Please. You need to let me take you out.”

“Traitor. That’s what you are, Dean. A traitor.” 

“Hey, I was also doing him a favor. You know, since he thinks I’m the best looking waiter –“

“Bring that up one more time and I’ll have Crowley fire you.” Castiel said. 

“Sam. Marry me.”

“Dean, I hate you. Castiel, I’m sorry you have to deal with him.” Sam said, casually pushing Gabriel’s nose out of his hair where it had somehow snuck off to. 

“Sam, I need you. You don’t understand.”

“Hey, angel-prop, you gonna give me directions or what?” Dean glanced at Castiel once they had reached an intersection.

“Left here. Ash knew all the ways to our houses by heart.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t Ash. My car, my rules, no arguing with the driver.”

“Even if he’s a complete moron?”

“Watch it, angel-prop. It would be much easier for me to drop you off on this corner here and let you -”

“Sam, I think we should have sex.“

“Gabriel!” Castiel cut in, glaring daggers into the back seat. “Shut the fuck up, we got it after the first declaration of love.”

“I must have him!” He cried, pressing his open palm against his chest and his head against Sam’s shoulder. 

“Sam, can’t you just go out with him. Just once? Please. For all our sakes.” Castiel pleaded, leaning his head back on the rest and closing his eyes. 

“Will he leave me alone after that?”

“Well, no, but I’ll get an evening of quiet and you’ll get to enjoy some classy dining.”

“No thanks. The only male I dine with is my brother and there is absolutely nothing classy about it, I assure you.” Sam sulked, trying to shrug Gabriel off. 

“Oh, I see how it is.” Castiel chuckled. “And what if Dean were to chaperone the date? Would you go then?”

“What?!” The three other men said in unison. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Sam would feel more comfortable with his older brother there to protect him.” Castiel cooed, the corners of his lips twisting maliciously. “Left here again,   
Dean.” He added.

“I don’t need protection. That’s not the issue here.”

“Seriously. Check out these guns.” Gabriel groaned, his fingers curling around Sam’s bicep. 

“Will you please let go of me before I chuck you out this window.” Sam wrenched his arm out the stripper’s grasp.

“And how much touching would that involve exactly? It just might turn out to be worth it.”

Lost for words, - because really how could one possibly respond to that- Sam stared off into space, blinking the confusion away. He wondered what kind of therapist it would take to be able to talk to this guy, this man, so talented in the art of innuendo, who could sexualise being thrown out a window. 

“Cas, are you sure were going the right way?”  
A moment of silence was shared between Castiel, Gabriel, and Sam; a quiet meeting of the minds to discuss the origins of Cas. The nickname had not been put into use beforehand and the slight frown that fell over all three pairs of eyes implied a mutual question: where the hell did that come from?

“Um, yeah. It’s the one on the corner there.”

It was only then that Sam realised that beyond the “Cas” part, his brother had asked a question and now, he knew why. As they drove further and further into the residential area, the houses were getting larger and larger. Not mansion size, of course, but the house they ended up pulling up in front of would have been too big for a family of four, let alone to accommodate two bachelors.

Despite its unnecessary size, that was indeed their house. Unsurprisingly, Gabriel insisted on them coming in for a drink, but after being rejected three times, he settled for planting a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek and running off before one of the brothers tried to kill him. 

Castiel sighed as he watched his brother run up the steps. “Thanks for the ride, Dean.” He said, as he reached into his pocket.  
The rustle of crisp dollar bills alerted Dean of what was about to happen and reminded him of how Michael had snuck a few bucks into their collars. Before he could think of stopping himself, it was too late, and his fingers had wrapped themselves around Castiel’s wrist. 

“Don’t.”

“But Michael-“

“You’re not Michael.” Dean said and immediately regretted it because the words hadn’t sounded so romantic in his head, but now both the stripper and his own brother were gaping at him like wide eyed cows. 

“Did you ever tip Ash?” Dean asked, trying to sound calm. 

“Well no, but that’s only because we knew him for so long and –“

“Then you don’t tip me.” Dean interrupted sternly. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes and searched Dean’s. It took every nerve in his body not to flinch at the feeling of those blue eyes digging into him.

“Thought you weren’t Ash.” He leered, unbuckling his seat belt.

“I’m not Sam either, but I still got treated like I was.” Dean smirked.

“Goodnight Sam.” Castiel called into the backseat before turning his head to the driver, pouting ever so slightly. “Goodnight Dean.”

//

Castiel found his housemate on the sofa, cradling a tub of ice cream in his arms and watching one of those vulgar late night cartoons.

“Eating our sorrows away, are we?” He teased, closing the front door behind him. He watched the Impala’s headlights shine through their windows as Dean made a U-turn and then disappear down the street. 

“Do you know if we still have those daisies in our yard?” He asked, sighing dramatically with the spoon hanging out of his mouth. 

“So you can rip their petals off and find out if Sam loves you? No, Mr. Novak works hard on our yard. Were not paying him just so you can destroy his work.”

“I love how you hold our gardeners feelings over your own brother’s.”

“You know something Gabe?” 

“What?”

Castiel did not answer for a while. He wasn’t sure if it would be worth lecturing his housemate, seeing as he hardly ever listened, but Sam seemed like a nice kid and if Gabe really did like him, the last thing Castiel wanted was for him to screw up his chances. While his technique consisted of irritating people until they cracked, Castiel could actually read them and from what he could gather, Sam was not one to give in so easily, especially with the added stubbornness of his older brother.

“You’d have a better chance with Sam if you, oh I don’t know, acted civil around him? You know, treated him like an actual human being instead of a piece of hunky meat you wanna sink your teeth into.” He tried, but the response came too fast for his words to have actually have had an effect on Gabe. 

“Not my style, bro.”

“Yeah well, I don’t think your ‘style’ is going to work on him. In fact, I think you’re just going to push him further. We already know his brother doesn’t like you...”

“It’s hard for him to like me when he only has eyes for one.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and Castiel huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right. He is pretty protective of Sam.”

“That’s not...” Gabriel trailed off, but his co worker did not seem fazed. “Never mind, angel-prop.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry Cas, I wasn’t aware that the nicknames were exclusive to Dean.” He said sarcastically, putting aside the ice cream and letting his head drop into Castiel’s lap. 

“They’re not. They’re not exclusive to anyone. I don’t like it, it’s insulting.” He grunted, trying to shove Gabriel off. 

“How is Cas insulting?”

Castiel finally managed to get the blonde angel away from him long enough to stand and make his way to the staircase. He was tired and if he had to deal with Gabe any longer, he’d pass out from exhaustion. This is how kindergarten teachers must feel at the end of the day, he thought. 

“It’s not.” He sighed and went to bed.


	9. New Recruits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM TAKING SHORT STORY REQUESTS ON MY TUMBLR! (doekent.tumblr.com). The requests are not limited to the Supernatural fandom, so please don't hesitate to make one! I'm back on the grind!

 

 The last of the angels had just left, but Meg still had an hour left to her shift. After clean up, she would have to report to Crowley for their weekly meeting. Together they would rate the angels based on popularity with the crowd, make changes to the lineup if necessary, go over any complaints made by the staff or the crowd (although the latter had yet to be displeased about anything), and talk about the potential services they could start offering. Meg was just blowing out the last candle set high up against the wall when she felt a tap against her calve.

“Excuse me?” Said the woman at the bottom of the ladder.

Meg hopped down from the ladder, her small heels clicking against the floor.

“How can I help you?”

The woman was young but was dressed very maturely. She had blonde hair chopped into a neat bob that swung left and right against her cheeks as she spoke.

“I would like to inquire about one of your employees.” She said, her brunette friend chuckling into her palm behind her.

“Unfortunately, there is very little information I can share concerning our angels, but if you would like to reserve one of them, allow me to direct you to –“

“Oh no, he’s not a dancer, see.”

“Oh? A waiter then?”

“Two actually.” Her friend giggled.

“Lemme guess.” Meg sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Tall, dark with the not so handsome mop and Ken doll with the sparkly eyes?”

Their frantic nods were answers enough.

//

Gabriel snored. It was a well known fact within the staff members of club Supernatural that Gabriel snored. No matter the time of day, the location or the duration, when Gabriel fell asleep in an any context, he snored. And that is what woke Castiel up that morning, at noon, which was the equivalent of 5 am for night workers such as himself.

No, it was not the snoring that woke him, but the lack thereof. The house was completely silent and unless Gabriel had woken up, Castiel had every reason to worry. The last time Gabriel had stopped snoring was when he had accidentally rolled off his bed in the middle of the night and knocked himself unconscious against the edge of his nightstand.

Upon searching the top floor, Castiel found that the bathroom was empty, his brother’s bed was made and his feet were cold. He shivered at the foot of his bed, but decided to go make breakfast instead; he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep.

Downstairs, the only thing of Gabriel he found was a note, neatly folded on the kitchen counter. It only read:

_Be back around 1. Hopefully with a surprise ;)_

Castiel did not like that winking face. Bad things usually followed Gabriel’s infamous winks. The mention of a surprise didn’t exactly provide him any relief either. What he really wanted to know was where Gabriel had gone at this hour.

Last night’s rejected tip sat next to the note, reminding him of his ever so handsome chauffeur and his new nickname. _Cas_. He’d never had a nickname before, except for the occasional ‘Cassy’ Gabriel used to piss him off.

In Dean’s defense, he had also called Gabriel ‘Gabe.’ Perhaps nicknames were just a quirk of his. Gabe for Gabriel, Sammy for Sam, and Cas for him. Except Castiel was giddily aware that he had a second nickname to everyone’s single one, an offensive one, but a nickname nonetheless, one Dean went through the trouble of coming up with.

“Angel-prop,” Castiel muttered to himself as he opened the fridge in search of breakfast.

 _I’m not a prop_ , he thought. Sure, he didn’t have his own numbers and yes, Crowley insisted on him being part of the decor more than the show, but that was no reason to refer to him as an object. Besides, the angels had their own theories pertaining to Castiel’s second-class treatment, most of them very flattering and just as unnerving in nature. He hoped they were wrong, but the more meetings he had with Crowley, the more he felt like those theories held some truth to them.

It was no secret that Crowley was protective of his angels. Between the staff and the patrons, it was unspoken law that not a hair was to be disturbed on any of their precious heads. After one very memorable patron thought it wise to stalk Michael, attack him, and in consequence scratch up his face, Crowley sent the town a message and made sure it was crystal clear. The man left town within the same week and any others who shared similar ideas knew better than to harm Crowley’s ‘assets.’

Castiel was never one to brag and while he did not enjoy being called an asset, he couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that Crowley’s unordinary strategy concerning him stemmed from Crowley believing he was worth more than the rest. Gabriel could tease him all he wanted, tell him that he wasn’t as ‘pretty’ as the others, but Castiel knew better. If he wasn’t as pretty, then Crowley wouldn’t have hired him in the first place. The Scot exclusively took on the best of the best and Castiel knew he was good. Damn right he was good, but no one knew that yet. _Maybe because Crowley doesn’t want them to,_ a shiver ran through his spine. He didn’t like to think about it too much. If the man was planning anything special, he’d find out eventually, wouldn’t he?

He poured himself some cereal and ate it in the living room. He turned the television on, but kept it on mute. On his days off, he expected silence, at least from the TV if not from his housemate.

“Oh brother dearest!” Castiel heard Gabriel call from their porch even before he swung the door open. He didn’t have to look to know that he had made a theatrical entrance, wide open arms and jazz hands included.

“It’s 12:45. I still had fifteen minutes,” Castiel sighed, but craned his neck curiously behind the couch hoping to get a glimpse of Gabriel. After all, he had mentioned a surprise and even Castiel couldn’t help but be a little interested.

However, Gabriel appeared in the living room with empty arms.

“Don’t even pretend you’re not dying to know what the surprise is!” Gabriel said, standing in front of Castiel arms crossed over his chest, completely blocking the TV.

“You’re not transparent.”

“Ha. Ha. ‘Cause I am to believe you were _actually_ paying attention to Dr. Phil.”

Gabriel stepped over the coffee table and plopped himself right next to Castiel.

“We’ve been promoted,” he announced.

“Oh, really. Is he gonna let me dance now?” Castiel rolled his eyes, but didn’t look away from the screen.

“In fact, he is,” Gabriel replied, despite the sarcasm. He grabbed the remote from his lap and the screen went black.

“Hey.”

“Shut up and listen,” he snapped, standing up again. “Meg called me last night right before I fell asleep. Said Crowley needed someone for a special job and she immediately thought of me.”

“I’ve always said the club would look classier with a bathroom attendant.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel. I am truly sorry that you think you’re funny,” Gabriel snorted. “Aaaanyway, I had a meeting with Crowley today, we discussed it, and we got the job!”

“Wait,” Castiel set his cereal down. “ _We?_ I thought Meg thought of you. Not me.”

“I knew it would happen eventually,” Gabriel had begun pacing the room, talking to himself.

“Well, I had hoped it would, but who knew! And so soon! Ha! This is going to be great!” he snickered, rubbing his hands together like the fly he was.

“Gabriel. What’s the job?” Castiel was getting nervous. He did not want to be a bathroom attendant. Angel-prop would take on a whole new meaning.

“Just the four of us, alone, in the club. I can see it now!” His eyes widened as some kind of realisation dawned on him before going on, “I wonder when they’re going to tell them. Oooooh, I hope it’s soon!”

“Gabriel.” Castiel stood, steadying his housemate with both his hands on his shoulders. If that would bring him back to earth, he did not know, but he needed him lucid long enough to know what the _hell_ he was being dragged into.

His brother’s eyes, previously darting all across the room, finally settled on Castiel’s.

“Yes.”

“What’s the job.”

“Why, Sam is the job, brother dear.”

“Sam?”

“Yes. Sam and Dean.”

Castiel took in a calming breath before trying again.

“Sam and Dean is the job. What about them?”

“Castiel, you can’t expect them to know how to dance. I doubt they’ve ever really _danced_. They need training!” Gabriel scoffed, as if it were so ridiculous that Castiel had no idea what he was talking about.

“Dance?!”

Gabriel sighed and said very, very slowly, “Crowley wants Sam and Dean to be angels and needs us to teach them how to dance.”

All the color drained from Castiel’s face and suddenly, he felt rather faint. This couldn’t be happening.

“Us?! Don’t you mean you?! Gabriel, I did not consent to this.”

“Well, I can’t teach them both!”

“Why not?” Castiel exclaimed, stepping away from his housemate. “Gabriel, I won’t do it.”

“But Cassy, I need you! I need you to keep Dean busy while I work on Samuel. Pleeeease!”

“You can’t take on a responsibility -for _Crowley_ of all people!- with ulterior motives. You just can’t!”

“You underestimate me.”

“Well, I’m certainly not doing it.” Castiel  paused, “I doubt they’ll even agree to it.”

They both detected the lie. Castiel’s lack of certainty as he said it was more than apparent. Crowley was persuasive, in more than one way. Some of the angels could have been supermodels if they wanted and yet, were working at the club with no intention of leaving.

“Look, let’s be realistic here. Sam and Dean are going to become angels, much faster than anyone had expected. According to Meg, they’re already being requested by clients and Crowley is definitely not going to let that slide without making some kind of profit out of it.”

“Yes, alright, but I don’t see why I have to do it,” Castiel said, defeated. He turned his gaze away from Gabriel but then quickly looked back with a frown. “Wait, what?!”

“Wha-“

“They’re already being requested? They’ve been working for less than two weeks!”

Gabriel laughed at Castiel’s outrage. “Yeah, I freaked out too. But you have to admit, they’re not bad looking. The whole world knows you think Dean is, anyway.”

“That was a mistake,” Castiel hissed.

“And boy, was it a loud one!” Gabriel howled laughing. “C’mon bro, you, me and the Winchesters. It’ll be great! It’ll even give me a chance to approach Sam like a decent human being, remember? Just like you said,” he grinned, waggling his brows at Castiel, who was trying really hard not to cringe back.

“I didn’t think you were actually listening...”

“Well, I was. And while I don’t necessarily agree one hundred percent, I can give it a try.”

Castiel was actually about to say something nice when Gabriel decided to keep talking, which never turned out in anyone’s favor. 

“Plus, you and Dean can get it ON! Mmph!” Gabriel hollered, punching Castiel square in the shoulder.

“OW! Gabriel, what the hell!?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking it, _Cas,”_ he cooed.

“I wasn’t!”

“LIAR!”

Both Castiel and Gabriel let out screams as Gabriel pounced on his housemate and began a wrestling match that last an alarming part of the afternoon.

//

“Uh... Well, of course I would, but er- what would that entail exactly?”

Sam had only been on the phone for a minute, but Dean could tell by the sound of his brother’s voice that something was wrong. Putting down his beer, he made his way to the kitchen, where he found Sam pacing around the table.

“Who is it?” Dean whispered and was completely taken aback when Sam mouthed back.

‘ _Crowley.’_

What the hell did he want, Dean thought. It was their Monday night off and work was something he really didn’t want to think about. Especially since this particular job involved dancing half-naked men.

“Okay... okay... um, right... okay... _oh.”_ Sam’s voice went low as he stopped dead in his tracks. Dean had no idea what was happening on the other end of that line, but his brother’s flushed figure meant nothing he was going to like.

“Yeah, uh... I don’t think – Oh, no, of course Mr. Crowley, it’s just that –right, I understand but...”

Sam was faltering. He was in panic mode, Dean could tell. What the hell was that creep telling him?

“Oh, but were not very good,” he laughed nervously. “Your reputation would be- oh, I see.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay...”

“With all due respect – wait, what?”

“Uh huh...”

“Oh. _Oh_ okay.” Sam’s eyes widened.

“Oh. Wow.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to him,” Sam glanced worriedly at Dean. “Bye, sir.”

Sam hung up the phone and fell back into one of the kitchen chairs with a loud huff.

“What did he want?” Dean asked.

“He made us an offer. One we couldn’t refuse,” Sam muttered rubbing at his eyes. Their new hours felt like constant jet lag.

“What’s the offer?”

“He wants us to be angels.”

Dean’s arms, previously crossed over his chest, fell loosely at his sides. His jaw hung slack for a few seconds, but he regain composure.

“No.” Dean’s eyes sparked with fury. “Absolutely not!”

Sam said nothing, knowing well his brother’s reaction would not end there.

“Who does this guy think he is?! He can’t just hire us and expect us to be his whore a week later! That’s not what we signed up for, Sammy. We were gonna be waiters until something better came along. _Stripping_ was never part of the plan. We can’t even dance! Hell, I wouldn’t even if we could! If this bastard thinks that I’m just going to do what he says, he has another thing coming. It’s not like the job pays a lot. Let him fire us for all I care! Fuck him! Fuck him and his stupid fucking club full of fags!”

Dean’s rage was too red for him to bother asking his brother why he had, during his rant, gotten up, fetched a pad of paper and a pen, and began writing on it like Dean wasn’t even there.

“Sammy?” Dean said breathlessly.

“You done?” Sam asked calmly, looking up from the stack of papers.

“Uh... yeah, I guess. Whatch’a got there?”

Without a word, Sam ripped out the piece of paper, folded it, and slid it across the table. He noticed the confused frown on his brother’s face, but did not bother offering an explanation. He was under the impression that the contents of the note would do that and more, all on their own.

Frown still in place, Dean picked up the paper and unfolded it as he eyed Sam. Upon looking at the note, Dean seemed to be even more lost.

“What’s with all the zeroes?” he asked his brother, waving the note around as he gestured with his hands. “What’s this supposed to mean, Sammy?”

“It’s a number, Dean,” he sighed, standing up from his seat.

“That’s a big number,” he chuckled.

“Yup,” Sam moved around the table to face his brother with no obstruction. “And it’s what your bank account’s going to read by the end of the year if we accept Crowley’s offer.”

Dean gaped at Sam before crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room.

“No way.”

“Dean. That number’s not even split between us. It’s _each._ Each, Dean!”

“Sammy, I am NOT dancing naked in front of a bunch of people!” Dean slammed his palm against the table. “A lot of them are dudes too!”

Sam picked up the ball of paper from the ground, unwrapping it in his hand. The number that stared back him was the same one as before, but it spoke louder to him this time.

“Well, I’m gonna do it.”

“ _What,”_ Dean spat.

“I’m gonna do it, Dean. Crowley said all we needed was a little training and then we could be on that stage, doing one number every night were open. That’s hardly three times a week! For _this_ much!” Sam said, waving the piece of paper in front of Dean’s face.

“There is no amount of money in the world that would make me sell my body,” Dean held his hands up defensively.

“You are being so dramatic. I am not selling my body, it’s just dancing!”

“Half-naked dancing!”

“I’m going to be shirtless in jeans, dancing around on a stage in front a crowd of women –and yes, maybe some men- for a  lawyer’s salary! That’s a no brainer, Dean.”

Dean watched his brother walk out of the kitchen, paper clutched in a fist. A small part of him wished that he and Sam were young again; back then, he could actually tell him what to do. Although, a teenage Sammy would never agree to being stripper. Would that even be legal? Dean shook the thought out of his mind and stared at the now empty space his brother was occupying only moments ago. Sam was right, this was a no brainer. Sam knew he should definitely accept and Dean knew otherwise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM TAKING SHORT STORY REQUESTS ON MY TUMBLR! (doekent.tumblr.com). The requests are not limited to the Supernatural fandom, so please don't hesitate to make one! I'm back on the grind!


	10. The Thrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still accepting requests on my tumblr doekent!

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 10- Thrust

By, Unlucky-charm 

Late in the morning the next day, Dean drove Sam to the club for his training. The car ride went on in silence; Dean purposely ignoring his brother and Sam scrolling on his phone, ignoring Dean ignoring him. It amused Sam, that even when in utter disapproval, Dean had wordlessly insisted on driving him there himself. Normally, he would feel the warmth of brotherly love well up inside him, but he was pretty sure Dean just didn’t want him driving the Impala. 

They almost missed the club and drove past it. It looked so different in the day, with its neon lights shut off, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. Club Supernatural looked nothing like the high end entertainment venue to the rich and powerful that it became once the sun set. 

“Call me when you’re done,” Dean muttered as Sam scooted out of the car. 

“Will do. See ya’ later.”

With a lump in his throat, Sam walked up to the matte black door. The last thing he saw before it shut behind him was Dean putting the Impala back into drive. 

All the lights of the club inside were lit, making Sam feel both uncomfortable and exposed. It felt like there was no boundary between the stage and the empty tables of the floor. The regular lighting made everything look artificial; the magic of Supernatural that patrons craved and waiters breathed on show nights was ever so absent. 

Two silhouettes stood stretching on stage under a dimmed spotlight, one wearing shiny blue soccer shorts and the other grey sweatpants, specifically the ones Dean hated because he could the bulge of Sam’s junk through them way too clearly for his comfort. Those particular grey sweatpants were quickly banned from the Winchester home, no matter how many times Sam tried to explain to Dean how cozy they were. ‘Sammy, the problem is that I can actually see just how damn cozy you are,’ Dean’s voice echoed in his head from the past, making Sam grunt and roll his eyes in the very present. Shaking off the thought of his brother, he made his way toward the stage where he encountered exactly what he was dreading, and yet expecting. 

“Sam,” said both voices in unison, one with the enthusiasm of an excited puppy. If Gabriel had a tail, Sam thought to himself, it would be wagging like a plane propeller right then.  
He kept that comparison to himself in fear of said puppy managing to make it dirty (too many canine related sexual acts, see).

“Hey guys,” he tried not to sigh out his words. “I’m assuming you’re my new dance instructors.”

“New? Did you have any old ones?” Castiel joked, as he helped Sam up onto the stage. This very clearly upset Gabriel for not having thought of the gesture first. 

“Well, of course. Dean taught me how to crump.”

Castiel, without letting go of his arm, blinked at him before snorting out a series of chuckles. Momentarily taken aback himself, it was Sam’s turn to blink right back. He had never seen the angel laugh, let alone smile with any of his teeth showing. His laugh was a few pitches higher than his regular voice and made all kinds of corners of his face crinkle.  
‘Adorable’ crossed Sam’s mind before he quickly reminded himself that Castiel was a grown man and more importantly, that he wasn’t sure if Gabriel could read minds because if he could, both he and Castiel were certainly fucked. 

“Oh God,” Gabriel moaned from his side of the stage with his forearm placed dramatically over his eyes. “He’s funny too?! Why God? WHY?” 

At that, Castiel quickly sobered and told his brother to keep his pants on so they could get to work.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Dean?” Gabriel asked.

“Well, I guess but –“

“Um, Dean’s not coming,” Sam chimed in and then quickly regretted it. 

Castiel, who had been making his way to a nearby chair, stopped dead in his tracks. 

“What.” 

Sam’s view was limited to the angel’s back clad in a tight white t-shirt, but judging by Gabriel’s widening eyes, Castiel was not happy.

“We were told,” the angel began through gritting teeth, “that we’d be teaching both of you how to dance. Crowley said so.”  
Inch by inch, Castiel finally turned half-circle to face Sam. His usually icy blue eyes were blaring paler with fury. 

“I’m the only one who confirmed with Crowley. Dean refused to do it,” Sam tried to explain, but knew it meant nothing when Castiel’s face remained unchanging. 

“Oh, did he?” Castiel hissed. “He refused. Huh. So tell me,” he turned back to Gabriel with violent speed. “What the hell am I doing here, at this ungodly hour of the morning of my day off!?”

“Cassy, calm down,” Gabriel said, holding his palms up defensively. “You can help me teach Sam. There’s no point in you going home now.”

“I could get some well-deserved sleep, maybe,” Castiel spat back. 

“Yeah, maybe for a couple hours before you’d need to come pick me up from here. It’s not worth it, buddy. Just help me teach him and we’ll all take a day long nap after that. Sound good?”

Sam had a feeling if the words ‘day long nap’ weren’t in that sentence, Castiel would still be in need of some mighty convincing. Even so, the angel look well past disgruntled. Whether his anger was directed at Dean for not showing up, or Crowley for lying about the confirmation, Sam could not tell and was not about to venture so far as to ask. The angel’s breathing looked like it was trying to put out a fire inside him. 

Sam’s concern for Castiel quickly dissipated as he felt a pair of unfeminine hands appear on his hips. A glance down revealed Gabriel’s surprisingly serious face paired with a suggestive glimmer in his eyes. Sam fought a strong urge to run and even more so as the angel revealed what moves they’d be practicing first. 

“The first and most important move in erotic dancing that you will have to master by the end of today is called The Thrust.”

//

Dean Winchester had just dropped off his little brother at a male strip club early in the morning of his day off and was heading back home to hopefully catch up on some sleep. In his car, the blaring music served to drown out the sound of his conscience telling him to turn back. After all, he had just dropped off his little brother at a bloody fucking male strip club. 

He braked hard in the middle of the street. His conscience only ever spoke so loudly when it came to Sammy. No amount of Metallica or Iron Maiden screaming through the speakers could silence the concern he had for his brother. If the screeching sound of his brakes hadn’t woken the entire street, the shrieking of his tired against the pavement as he u-turned surely did. 

He pulled up at the club a few minutes later and made his way inside before he had the chance to change his mind about it. He had to be quick, especially since he did not particularly like the decision he was about to make. A second thought, no matter how short, could have him jumping back into the Impala and heading home within seconds.  
As he pushed through the doors and entered the club, he stumbled over his own steps. Dean Winchester wasn’t sure how to feel about what he saw on that stage, but definitely knew he did not want to talk about it. The sequence of words on the tip of his tongue varied between ‘Get the hell off my little brother!’ and ‘What the hell are you guys even doing?’ 

His brother was standing in the middle of the stage with Gabriel kneeling in front of him, his face disturbingly close to Sam’s crotch, while Castiel stood on a chair on Sam’s left side. The latter angel had the taller man in some form of sideways embrace. His arms ran across Sam’s chest and back and his hands locked tightly around his right shoulder. Meanwhile, Gabriel held Sam’s hips and seemed to be struggling with moving them in the direction he wished. 

“Do I even ask?”

His voice carried louder than expected and startled the “performers” on stage. 

“Dean!” Sam cried, both surprised and relieved to see his brother. However, his face was quick to fall once he regained awareness of the compromising position he was in. 

“I can’t thrust,” Sam sighed, not from frustration, but absolute embarrassment. 

“You can’t thrust,” Dean repeated, his patience already slipping only two seconds into what he knew was going to be a mind-numbing conversation. 

“Thrusting is the most basic yet essential move every angel has to master,” Castiel explained, the corner of his mouth twitching as he realised how ridiculous he sounded talking about an over sexualized dance move like it were a global warming documentary. 

“And your brother is struggling quite a bit,” Gabriel grunted as he tried to tug Sam’s hips into motion once more.

“Ow, Gabriel!” Sam flinched and pulled away from the angel’s grasp. 

“Sam can’t thrust?”

“Sam can’t thrust,” the three men on stage replied in unison, followed by a moment of silence on their part.

Dean felt the tension between them, the frustration, and most importantly, the general awkward that just didn’t seem to go away no matter how intimate they got. They had only been rehearsing for half an hour and the looks on their faces were unquestionably those of utter defeat. Sam had his ‘I give up’ pout hanging off his lips and while it did break Dean’s brotherly heart, he was also aware of how pathetic it was. So, he couldn’t thrust! It wasn’t rocket science. It sure as hell wasn’t law school. How was he expecting to get through law school if he abandons ship at every obstacle. After all, it was just thrusting. If Dean understood correctly, thrusting wasn’t all that complicated. In fact…

“You mean… like this?” Dean asked oh so very innocently before arranging two fists at his sides and pumping them backwards as his entire pelvis, as though independent from the rest of his body, grinded the air before his crotch in the single most sensually fluid oscillating movement that anyone in the room had ever witnessed. 

Sam’s and Gabriel’s jaws wouldn’t have been hanging so low if a possum had just crawled out of the fly of Dean’s jeans. Sam could have never imagined his brother pulling such a stunt, but what he didn’t know that Gabriel and Castiel happened to know all too well was that Dean had just executed a perfect thrust, like it was nobody’s damn business.  
Castiel’s shirt was off before Sam and Gabriel had a chance to regain composure. He let the white cotton t-shirt bundle on his wrists before tossing it aside completely. 

“Um. What are you doing?” Dean asked, single eyebrow raised and eyes roaming indiscreetly.

“Getting ready for a cold shower,” Gabriel snickered.

Castiel did not spare an ounce of himself in acknowledging his brother or his comment. Instead, in a few excruciatingly slow steps, he stood at the very front of the stage, toes pointing of its wooden edge. With an abrupt jerk of his head, he invited Dean up.

“Let’s dance, Winchester.” 

//

Dean’s ‘whatever’ attitude, no matter how well practiced, was no match for Castiel’s even better practiced devil-may-care demeanor. The way that single strand of hair fell loose to dance above his forehead was no random manifestation of physical laws. The flexing of his biceps was an unnecessary force given the weight of a t-shirt and that strut towards the back of the stage, despite looking natural, was well designed to accentuate every rippling back muscle and everything below those. But all Dean saw through his naïve audience eyes was a god-like creature inviting him to dance under his holy spotlight. He was not worthy and more importantly, he was not ready. The threat of an undefeatable challenge did not go unheard in Castiel’s tone. Dean was in trouble, but an over the shoulder glance of electric blue sent his way meant he was climbing onto that stage or facing some unpleasant consequences. Suddenly, Dean felt very, very small. 

He kept his gaze locked on Castiel’s back, which meant he failed to catch the look shared between Gabriel and his brother before they went about their business. 

“Heh. Am I supposed to take my shirt off too?” he scoffed.

“Unless you don’t mind ruining it,” Castiel said, giving him a once over. “Things tend to get sweaty.”

Dean shrunk once more and decided to stop trying to better this man, especially on his turf. He already failed to beat them and, reluctantly removing his shirt, realized he was joining them having hardly put up a fight. He could feel Gabriel’s and Sam’s stares on his skin and made sure to avoid any awkward eye contact. Besides, looking away also hid his blush, whose existence he himself was in the process of denying. 

“You might wanna stop blushing like that,” Castiel said, now tampering with the stereo behind one of the curtains. “The innocent virgin archetype is already taken.” 

This only made Dean’s flush fiercer and Gabriel’s low whistle did not help. However, any possible retort forming in his head was interrupted by the riff of a wordless jazzy song he did not recognize. 

“You’ve got the basic thrust right, but you need to add a little more flow.”

“Flow?” Dean asked to mask his gulp. Castiel was walking towards him and, while he had no idea why, Dean felt cornered with nowhere to run in an empty room.

“Integrate the vulgar movement into dance and it’s not vulgar anymore.” 

At that, he turned to Sam. “You too. Come here.”

Sam and Dean stood on the side of the stage watching and waiting. For what exactly, they were not sure. Castiel didn’t seem to be doing much, simply standing around, swinging his arms left to right ever so slightly. Gabriel must have caught on to whatever it was because he was standing by his co-worker bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation within seconds. 

And then it happened. The music’s softer tempo suddenly rose, sounding four loud blares of trumpet and drums, to which Castiel and Gabriel synchronized four swimmingly executed thrusts, taking a step forward each time. Left, right, left, right, in perfect harmony. With that, the music died down to its original pace. 

“Now you two,” Castiel called on them, “follow our lead.” 

A jerk of his head pulled the two brothers by the angels’ sides. As he approached, Dean kept his eyes focused on that strand of hair that had come loose again. He didn’t understand men who kept their hair long, even though Castiel’s wasn’t as tragic as Sam’s sasquatch situation, but that one strand was just so infuriating. Why couldn’t it follow the rest of the styled bed head he was pulling off instead of detaching itself from the heard simply to taunt him. 

“Okay, it’s coming up so be ready for it.”

Dean listened as the tempo rose for the instrumental chorus once more and suddenly, Gabriel’s bobbing in place made sense. There was no one in the crowd, but he felt so jittery. His fingers wiggled at his sides and his feet kept taking small involuntary steps back and forth. He tried to calm himself, but as the song got closer and closer to the peak, his heart beat faster and faster. He glance sideways only to see Castiel raise his brow at his feet and share a knowing smile. He granted him a quick nod, cuing the trumpets and the drums, and they were off. Thrust right, thrust left, right, left. This time, not so harmoniously. While Dean was left behind, he watched his brother fail to thrust each time and awkwardly move in a shapeless zigzag instead. At least he ended his last step at the same time as the angels. 

“Oh honey,” Gabriel cooed, giving Sam’s shoulder a few solid pats. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually. It’s just harder for some people.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sam snapped, pulling away. 

“Correction. I’m condescending you.”

“Don’t do that either.” 

“Sam. You really need to work on that thrust,” Castiel sighed. 

“Sorry Sammy,” Dean grinned. 

“Dean.”

“Yessir.”

“Dancing is not a series of separate movements. It’s several movements fused together. You can’t just stop after every thrust and every step because the music doesn’t stop either. Follow the beat and create a flow.” 

“Sorry Dean,” Sam copied the grin with his hands behind his back. 

“We’re going to try that again,” Castiel announced, but Gabriel was way ahead of him, restarting the song from behind the curtains. 

They did try again. And again. And again. Both brothers got better, but as they did, new instructions were added and new mistakes were made. Laces were tripped over and feet were stepped on, mainly Gabriel’s on the part of Sam. 

“Okay, I love you and everything, but ow,” Gabriel sat on the ground, nursing his right foot in his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam cringed. He was aware that he wasn’t exactly on the small side, while Gabriel definitely was. “You’re feet are really small too, I don’t know how I managed that.”

“Excusez-moi? “ Gabriel, thoroughly vexed, quickly forgot about his foot and stood before Sam as though he towered over him when it was really quite the opposite. “My good sir, I will have you know that my feet are perfectly proportional to my stature.” 

“Yeah? What other parts are proportional to your stature?” Dean snorted and felt an indecent amount of pride when Castiel joined in on the laugh. 

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Dean, gently shaking his head. “Low blow, Winchester. In front of your brother on top of it!” 

“Hey, my brother’s a freakin’ giant. I just don’t want him to come out shorthanded,” Dean shrugged and almost grinned when Castiel chuckled at his pun. 

“Alright, alright, no more ripping on Gabriel. I’m the one he’s going to be whining to,” Castiel stepped in, smile still lingering on his face. 

“Hey!”

//

Clean pair of sweatpants on, Castiel and Gabriel were finally settled in to fall asleep on the couch watching a movie. Both pairs of eyes were glued on the screen and yet the minds were wandering. The foreshadowing of a conversation lingered in the air and finally, once they were officially out of popcorn, kernels and all, Gabriel broke the silence. 

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Castiel, used to his brother’s odd antics, spared him but a quick quizzical glance. 

“For what?”

“For cleaning up the mess you caused.”

This and Gabriel’s relatively serious tone finally got Castiel’s full attention. 

“What mess?”

“Earlier today.”

“When?”

“Oh you know,” Gabriel shrugged, “when you decided to take your shirt off and have Dean Winchester drool all over the stage.”

“Oh my God, Gabriel,” Castiel rolled his eyes, absolutely exasperated. 

“It took me forever!”

“Would you shut up.”

“You should’ve seen the state of the mop once I was done!”

“Goodnight Gabriel.”

“Completely saturated!”

Castiel went up the stairs to the sound of Gabriel’s giggling. He could play joker at home all he wanted, Castiel smiled at the thought, because the angel Gabriel had been miraculously civil with the younger and musically challenged Winchester. He’d congratulate him in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still accepting requests on my tumblr doekent!


	11. Dirty Dancing

Wings, Sex and Magic

Chapter 11- Dirty Dancing

By, Unlucky-charm

 

The night was ablaze. Supernatural was running at full potential, every table crowded with drinks and every chair in the house occupied by a patron and sometimes maybe even two. Crowley did not care much for fire hazards.

“I need a scotch on the rocks, two martinis with two olives each, and a Jack and Coke.”

“Why people would ruin Jack with Coke is beyond me.”

Dean smiled at Benny as he began to mix his order.

“Does it get this packed often?” Dean asked, his back to the bar as he wandered his gaze over the crowds in the club.

“Not at all. We haven’t been this understaffed in a while,” he said, setting the drink onto Dean’s tray two by two. “Everyone is on the floor too.”

He was right. Crowley had summoned his entire staff for the night and even with everybody running around like headless chickens, catching up to the patrons’ orders was becoming impossible with their decreasing energy levels. It wasn’t helping that Sam was hardly covering his section either.

“You’re brother is hilarious,” Jo appeared next to him and proceeded to yell her orders over the blaring music.

“His determination is admirable,” Meg added without tearing her eyes away from the man in question.

Dean shook his head at the spectacle that was Sammy. With ever customer he served, he spent an additional three minutes standing around watching the show, trying to mimic the routines being performed on stage. A soft mantra of ‘a one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...’ could be heard whilst walking by him.

“He’s almost got that thrust down,” Meg patted Dean on the back. “You two will be up there in no time.” She motioned to the stage with a jerk of her chin.

Under the spotlight sat Samandriel, his wrist and ankles bound to the chair and a piece of silver duct tape adorning his mouth. The angel stared up with pleading doe-eyes at his master, Michael, who in turn, ran a jet black riding crop across his pale chest. The triangular tip of the prop travelled all the way down to the angel’s belly button and then all the way back up until it reached his neck. Samandriel gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the leather. The riding cropped inched a bit higher up and finally settled right underneath Samandriel’s chin.

“Hello, darling,” the archangel purred, tilting his victims face towards him.

Dean snorted. It was all so theatrical. The innocent virgin, helplessly tied up, feeling things he’s never felt before, scared and confused by his own arousal. He pretends like he doesn’t like it, but if his noises are anything to go by, he doesn’t want Michael to stop touching him. But that’s the point, isn’t it? The whole “it’s so wrong, but feels so right” business. Michael himself is taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit. Tainting something so pure must be a sin but boy, was it a crowd pleaser. There was nothing more delicious than sin, after all.

But at the end of the day, it was all an act, wasn’t it. They put on a show and then went home to an empty house, or in Samandriel’s case, to his boyfriend Adam.

_He’s no Castiel_ , Dean caught himself thinking. He shook his head to dismiss the thought, but it stuck, securely pinned to the announcement boards of mind.

” _This just in: ANGEL-PROP IS THE BEST PROP.”_

Fuck it. There was nothing wrong with thinking that. What kind of dancer will he be if he can’t give credit when it’s due. He simply recognized Castiel’s superior talent of –

_Being a sexy, writhing bottom._

-PROFESIONAL DANCER, Dean scornfully corrected his own thoughts.

“Could I get another beer over here?”

“Sure thing, buddy.” Dean called back, not even sure to which patron exactly.

The night went on in a similar fashion. The waiters and waitresses of club Supernatural gave up on sticking to their assigned sections. Serving any patron that needed serving was a much more efficient way of dealing with the chaos. They’d split the tips evenly later.

Dean was on his way to the bar to grab one of Sammy’s orders before anyone noticed how useless his brother was being, when a hush fell across the floor. The stage had gone dark, not the dimming that usually happened between acts, but pitch blackness. Was it over already? Dean checked his watch. They still had a good hour to go...

“What –“ He began to ask Benny, but the bartender was busy on the other side of the bar.

“Oooo, it’s time,” he heard Meg whisper from somewhere close by. “Jo!” She called and once having the blonde’s attention, waved her over to the bar.

Jo, having understood what was going on by simply glancing at the black stage, jogged towards them, grabbing Sam on her way.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked his brother.

“Crowley’s rule,” Meg said.

“No waiters on the floor when Castiel’s on.”

“’bout time,” Dean snorted, instantly regretting it as the three other waiters gave him a weird look. “It’s just that he’s rarely up there... what’s Crowley payin’ him for!” he choked out a nervous laugh and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam always told him he was bad at comebacks.

Dean stared ahead until he felt the gazes peel away from his being. What was the big deal anyway? What made Castiel so special that they couldn’t serve drinks while he performed? Dean snorted again, internally this time. You could hardly even all that performing! Laying down and looking pretty could hardly be considered a performance.

“Oh.”

The voice echoed through the club, eliminating the last quiet whispers into an eerie silence. Had they turned the speakers up?

“Hello,” it spoke again. “I didn’t see you there.”

_So original,_ Dean rolled his eyes. The voice sounded like silk running over varnished mahogany, nothing like Castiel’s low, raspy tone.

A cone of light gradually brightened at the center of the stage, revealing Balthazar sitting on a black leather armchair, legs crossed and fingers drumming against the armrests.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he purred. The sound of his voice was coming from somewhere deep inside his throat.

Small squeals of uncontained excitement sprouted from left and right, but were silenced by a smacking of hands over lips as fast as they escaped their owner’s mouths.

“I have something very exciting to show you.”

The entire crowd, including Dean, unconsciously leaned forward, as though it would speed up Balthazar’s carefully calculated revelation.

“Something I’ve been dying to share.”

Dean let out an almost inaudible gasp and proceeded to hold his breath.

“Tell me, friends.”

A smirk quirked the corner of the angel’s lips as mischief sparked in his eyes like a bolt of lightning.

“Have you met my pet?”

With an excruciatingly slow blink, Balthazar turned his head to the side of the stage, searching between the curtains for whatever it was the crowd was dying to see.

“Hello, love,” he grinned. “Won’t you show the nice people how you crawl?”

The crowd could hardly contain themselves, but Dean had no other choice. His arms still crossed over his chest tightened, as though he were trying to keep his heart still. He dug half moon shaped dents into his biceps, which only deepened as Castiel made his appearance.

“Oh _fuck_.” Dean heard Jo swear and decided he shared the sentiment.

Castiel crawled onto stage on all fours, his dark grey jeans hanging low on his hips and threatening to fall lower with every step. The fluid movements of his crawl enhanced the curve of his ass and his shoulders resembled those of a prowling feline. Once at Balthazar’s feet, he sat up on his knees and let the other angel run his fingers through his tousled hair. That’s when Dean and –judging by the multiple gasps –the rest of the crowd noticed it.

Dean swallowed hard at the sight of the black leather collar wrapped snuggly around Castiel’s neck, a vacant silver hoop hanging at its center, where a potential leash could be attached.

“Very good, love.” Balthazar cooed.

He stroked Castiel’s cheek with his knuckles, as the angel leaned into his touch. Dean watched with unblinking eyes as Balthazar’s thumb glided across Castiel’s stubble and moved downward to take hold of his chin. Similarly to Michael’s performance, he tilted his head upwards. Samandriel’s doe eyes had nothing on Castiel’s. The innocence was there, but so was the rebellion. Castiel played the tamed pet well, but a sinful one at that.

“Open.” Balthazar said, tone bittersweet. The command was well disguised as a request.

He ran this thumb across Castiel’s lips until he slowly parted them. Balthazar smiled down at him and slid his finger into his mouth. One by one, Castiel proceeded to welcome the other angel’s fingers into his mouth, gently sucking on each one.

“Good,” Balthazar drawled, and brought Castiel’s head down to settle on his thigh. He continued to pet Castiel, fluffing his hair as Castiel kept his cold, icy blue gaze on the crowd. His expression did not falter; Castiel was thoroughly unimpressed with everyone in the crowd. Dean, on the other hand, was all but gaping at Castiel.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Balthazar suddenly announced, louder than before.

“Welcome to the dog show.”

The crowd cheered and Dean almost ripped the sleeves off his shirt. He was shaking and the harder he gripped onto himself, the more violent the tremors became.

Balthazar hooked his finger into the silver loop and dragged Castiel up onto his lap by the neck. Once perched between his legs, the angel proceeded to run his fingers up and down Castiel’s bare back. After the third journey south, he let his hands slip past the surprisingly loose waistband of Castiel’s jeans. The latter started, bouncing up and down in his seat, as Balthazar’s hand visibly gripped his ass under the fabric.

“Behave,” he growled, snatching Castiel by the collar again and bringing their faces together. “Now, give us a kiss, love.”

Castiel’s eyes went hazy, his lids falling low over the blue irises. He leaned into Balthazar, slowly parting his lips and teasing the audience with a peak of his tongue. He pressed the tip gently against Balthazar’s jaw, following the line up to his ear. Castiel then caught the lobe between his teeth before continuing to drag his tongue over the shell of the angel’s ear. If Dead didn’t know better, he could have sworn Balthazar broke character for a second. Either way, he did a good job hiding that shudder.

“Good boy,” Balthazar muttered through clenched teeth and brushed a stray strand of hair off Castiel’s forehead. “Very obedient...”

A slow, sensual beat began, growing louder and louder through the speakers. A low sound paired with a heavy bass created an atmosphere of intimacy and suddenly, Dean didn’t feel so comfortable watching the act. He felt as though he was getting a glimpse of something private, something he was not meant to see. The invasive thought bloomed in his mind, but was nowhere near strong enough to tear Dean’s gaze away from the show on stage.

Castiel had just sheepishly unbuttoned his fly and Lord knew the angel wasn’t wearing any underwear. There was no elastic waistband cutting off that happy trail. Dean followed the line of dark brown hair all the way to the crotch of his jeans and unconsciously licked his lips.

Finally, the angel began to move. He got up and swung the entire chair around so that the audience could appreciate a profile view. Castiel straddled Balthazar and began to grind their hips together, his arms wrapped around the blonde angels neck. Balthazar’s hands appeared on Castiel’s chest, his fingers splayed open across valley of abdominal muscle. Dean felt his hand twitch and only then realised that, at some point, his arms had uncrossed and fallen limp at his sides.

It was like being part of a room full of voyeurs, snooping on a private lap dance. Castiel and Balthazar only had eyes for each other, as Castiel pressed the obvious bulges of their pants together.

“Turn around, pup.” Balthazar’s low voice was hardly audible.

Castiel did as he was told. He got up, turned around and sat back onto Balthazar’s lap. He ground his ass against the other angel’s crotch, back arched, and arms stretched behind his head. Balthazar’s hands slid down Castiel’s sides, his right hand travelling lower to palm at Castiel’s cock.

Castiel paid no attention, rolling his hips to the hot and heavy beat of the music. Watching the angel move was as arousing and frustrating as incredibly slow sex, which was basically what Castiel and Balthazar were doing up on stage.

‘ _Cuz baby when I’m finished with you, you won’t wanna go outside._

The chorus repeated itself for a second time before the beat dropped into a faster pace. The audience only got to see a glimpse of Balthazar finally ditching his persona, as the angel’s eyes rolled back into his head with the delicious grind of Castiel’s ass. His hands loosened at the angel’s hips and in one swift movement, grabbed onto his collar again.

With one violent tug, Balthazar brought Castiel to his knees again, in between his legs. With his free hand, he unzipped his own fly. Castiel frowned and mouthed something, but Balthazar didn’t seem to care enough to notice.

“Lick.”

A collective gasp on the part of all patrons resonated over the loud music that was slowly reaching its climax.

Castiel’s cold blue eyes stared up at Balthazar and suddenly, something was wrong. The tame, puppy persona faded and something dangerous shone in Castiel’s gaze. He bore his teeth, snarling viciously at Balthazar, who in turn grabbed a fistful of Castiel’s hair and pulled him forward.

The patrons held their breath as Castiel nuzzled against the cotton of Balthazar’s boxers and pressed his entire tongue against the hardened bulge of the angel’s cock.

By the time the music ended, Castiel’s tongue curled upwards in a swift lick and disappeared behind his swollen lips.

//

When the lights came back on, the patrons all shared a collective look of embarrassment after having witnessed a show they only dared experience in their dreams. Many drinks were ordered.

“Is that... Is that even okay?!” Sam asked the rest of the staff, who only answered him with pitying looks.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked Jo, who was trying very hard to hide the fierce blush painting her cheeks.

“New act, I guess...”

“You _guess_?” Dean was not happy with that answer. “Jo –“

“That’s a Castiel show for you,” chimed Meg, who seemed to be the only one completely unfazed by the performance. “Leaves you gasping for breath and hiding your boner.”

Is this what he did? Disappeared for weeks on end and then left an audience with the worst case of blue balls in recorded history?

“How the hell does he even do that?!” Sam exclaimed.

“Dunno,” Benny shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to ask him on the way home.”

“What?!” It was Dean’s turn to raised his voice. Surely Benny didn’t mean...

“Gabe mentioned he’d be using the delivery service today,” Benny chuckled. “Now I get why. No way Crowley’s letting Castiel go home on his own tonight, not after that performance.”

Dean gulped. How was he supposed to face him after... after _that?_ Hell, how was he supposed to keep going to his dance lessons!?  The thought of Castiel anywhere near him, touching him, talking to him with his mouth, that same mouth that could clearly do so much more than _talk._ Dean began to break into a cold sweat, remembering how Castiel watched him from under those thick lashes, how he held his hips when he showed him how to move, the roughness of his breathing after a trying demonstration.

Dean felt faint all of a sudden, like all the blood in his head had suspiciously disappeared...

“Can we get some shots over here?”

“Coming right up!” He snapped out of it and went back to work.

//

The night ended an hour ago and Dean was slowly losing his patience.

“Where the hell is he?” Sam asked Gabriel, checking his watch for the third time.

“He’ll be here, he’s just... taking care of some business.” Gabriel tried to keep his tone light, but neither of the brothers missed the worried glances he kept sending towards the changing rooms.

Sam jerked his head to the side and walked over to a vacant table out of Gabriel’s earshot. Dean followed.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve been standing less than a foot away from him for about an hour now and he hasn’t made a single pass at me,” Sam whispered in all seriousness.

“And you... want him to make a pass at you?”

“No, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Something’s wrong. I think you should go check on Castiel.”

Dean glanced over at the angel sitting at the edge of a table, chewing up his bottom lip.

“Gabriel said the changing rooms are off limits.”

“I’ll distract him. You go see if Castiel’s okay.”

Dean gave his brother a quick nod before making his way towards the changing rooms.

“Hey Gabriel, I think I sat in something. Can you check?”

‘Well done, Sammy,’ he thought as he made his way to the swinging doors of the changing rooms which, for all he knew, lead to Narnia.

Turns out, Narnia would have been far less confusing. The angels’ changing rooms were built like one big maze, littered with clothing, hair products, baby oil, and a shit ton of glitter. Dean walked past the rows of empty boudoirs, following the faint sounds of a conversation coming from one of the back rooms.

From was Dean could tell, everyone else had gone home and the two that were left , he realised, were definitely arguing. Dean was about to turn yet another corner when he caught a glimpse of Castiel standing at the threshold of a changing room. He retreated back around the corner and leaned against the wall. He didn’t want to eavesdrop or anything, but interrupting them would just be rude...

“LICK! _Lick?!_ Have you lost your fucking mind, Balt?!” Castiel shouted. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Oh relax! It was part of the act.”

“No it wasn’t! That’s the whole point! I never agreed to this, we never rehearsed this, and you can’t just change the fucking routine on stage like that! I mean, what the actual FUCK Balt!”

“Don’t you give me that scandalized bullshit!” Dean heard a chair scrape followed by the sound of footsteps. Balthazar’s voice rang clearer; he had probably joined Castiel in the hallway. “No one forced you to do it!”

“We were on STAGE! I couldn’t just break character like that!”

“Oh, right. You’re gonna tell me your were acting the whole time? Ha!”

“Of course I was! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Castiel paused and breathed a sobering breath. “You knew I’d have to do it for the act. You took advantage, Balt.”

The conversation stopped. Someone took two steps forward and Dean heard Castiel’s back hit the wall.

“Watch what you say, Cassy,” he threatened. “For a second there, you were sounding like some kind of _victim._ ” Balthazar spat, but Dean didn’t give Castiel a chance to reply. He’d heard enough.

“Cas,” he called and turned the corner as though he had just entered the hallway looking for him. He caught Balthazar backing away, but didn’t spare him a longer look.

“What are you doing here?”

Castiel stared at him with a mix of relief and irritation. He had changed into a red hoodie, zipped halfway his torso. He had not bothered wearing a shirt underneath, bringing a new meaning to the term ‘v-neck.’

“We’re waiting. You ready?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Castiel swiftly walked past him and down the hall.

“Mr. Winchester.” Balthazar nodded.

“Nice show.” Dean said, expression blank. “Balt.”

With that, the angel crept back into his room and Dean made his way down the hall, eyes roaming all over the broad shoulders ahead of him.   

//

The car ride took place in complete silence.

Castiel stared out the window. Gabriel stared at Castiel, bottom lip still trapped between his worrying teeth. Both exited the car without saying goodbye.

Once they were finally home, Sam went to bed without asking Dean why he punched the wall.

 


	12. Narnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some soft-core porn.

“Hey! Rapunzel!”

As much as he’d deny it later, Sam did turn around, gaze scattered left and right in search of a face to pair with the gruff voice, who may or may not have just addressed him.

“I’m talkin’ to you, boy!”

“Huh?”

Greasy trucker hat with even greasier apron had his head poked through the crack of the kitchen’s swivelling door. They made eye contact and the man, rather unkindly, mimicked Sam’s wide eyes and gaping mouth.

“Yes, you,” he hissed. “How ‘bout you stop lookin’ like a cow who just got shot between the eyes and get your ass in here!”

And with that, the bearded man disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the door swinging behind him. Hesitant, Sam looked around for someone who could provide an explanation to what he just witnessed, but he was alone and potentially going insane. Cranky old men were no extraordinary sight to see, no, definitely not... _in the real world._ But this wasn’t the real world. This was club Supernatural, the land of glistening abdominal muscles under the flattery of dim lighting. Certainly no place for –

“I’m Bobby,” said the man, who turned out to be much shorter now that Sam was standing next to him. _Though,_ _everyone turned out to be shorter when Sam stood next to them._

“You might wanna get rid of that surprise on your face before I slap it off, boy.” He grumbled and growled under his breath as he began to stack plates full of food onto Sam’s tray.

“Uh, sorry,” he managed. “It’s just that I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“You think right, despite what your face says.” He placed the last plate and carefully handed Sam his tray. “I prefer stayin’ back here.”

“Right,” Sam laughed. “Where it’s safe.”

That last comment got him a chuckle out of the man, at least.

“You’re smarter than you let on. Now, why don’t you take this food back to the performers.”

Sam’s smile did not falter. It downright disappeared.

“What?” He choked.

Bobby frowned at him from underneath his trucker cap. “I don’t think I stuttered, son.”

The man wasn’t exactly threatening, but was clearly unafraid of letting Sam know of his fleeting patience, that is, if he even possessed said virtue in the first place.

“You... want me to take this to the angels?”

 _Because you have no idea how much I can’t do that,_ Sam thought.

“They’ll be lowerin’ me six feet under before I call any grown man an angel,” Bobby scoffed. “But yeah, that’s what I want you to do, now scram!”

With three swift gestures of his hands, Bobby chased Sam out of the kitchens. The club was as dark as he had left it and, speaking of leaving, no one seemed to have noticed that he had done so. Perhaps, the swivelling door was a portal to a parallel dimension. Why would Crowley keep his kitchens in a separate layer of the universe? Cheap labour? No property tax? Or maybe he just wasn’t gone for that long.

Sam walked incredibly slowly toward the right side of the stage, where stood a completely different door leading to a completely different –and much scarier –dimension. He wasn’t stalling, per say. He just needed his dumb brother to _freakin’ turn his stupid head and –_

 Yes.

Their eyes met and Dean frowned, gently shaking his head.

_What’s wrong?_

With a tilt of his head, Sam gestured to the food and then to the dreaded door.

_Special delivery._

Dean widened his eyes.

_Good luck, buddy._

With a gulp so loud Sam was sure most of the patrons had just looked his way, he made his way to the door in a brisk walk and remembered his orthodontist. He remembered being seventeen years old, sitting in that green operating chair, cotton balls stuck in his cheeks, sending mental goodbyes to all four of his wisdom teeth.   

“Wi’ it ‘urt?”

“Not if I’m your surgeon,” Dr. Ezra smiled. “The trick is to be in there for as little long as possible. It only hurts when doctors take their time and operate for an hour. I’ll be sewing you up in twenty. No pain, I promise.”

Should Sam be applying dentistry-specific advice to his job in a burlesque club? Probably not. But the doctor’s words had stuck, mostly because they had proven accurate. He never ended up taking those painkillers either, although Dean insisted on buying them just in case. In and out, he created the mantra in his head. In and out. The faster he moved, the  higher his chances of avoiding pain. Of avoiding interception.

For the second time within the hour, Sam travelled through time and space. From truck driving chefs, to religious strip clubs, and finally, racks. If he could describe what the angels’ changing rooms in one words that would it. Racks. Racks everywhere, their metal beams hidden under mounds and mounds of clothing draped over or hanging off of them. With wheels nonetheless! Like cars on a busy street, they were pushed up and down the halls, angels picking out what they needed as they rolled by, like some kind of automated trolley system.  

Navigating among the chaos, Sam marched through the halls, eyes snapping form door to door, most of them closed and some left ajar. Past the maze of hallways was a vast room with a high ceiling, its walls lined with boudoirs and floor sprinkled with feathers, fabrics, and empty cans of hair product. Costumes and cosmetics were either strewn over every flat surface available or airborne, as they were thrown across the room from one angel to the other. The music in the club was loud, but this was a commotion to be reckoned with. Soundproof walls, that’s the only answer Sam could think of.

“Luci, do you have the hair pomade?”

“I gave it to Josiah.”

“Has anyone seen my tie!?”

“ Balt used it to tie up a guest last night!”

“Damn it! Where’s Balt?!”

“Whose panties are these?”

Sam thought it wise to block out the voices only after the women’s satin bikini cut hit him in the face. The constant buzz of ruckus was preferable to the nature of the conversations flying about. After all, he was only delivering food. In and out. That was the plan. Or at least, that _was_ the plan, until the sound of an all too familiar whine reached his ears. He did not dare turn around.

“I’m not doing it. No fucking way. Not again.”

“Do we have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Samandriel, but it is unwise to refuse one of our more loyal customers.”

That last one had been Michael. Sam remembered the calm, but firm, tone all too well. One of a natural born leader, a good businessman, someone who demanded respect.

“Wise or unwise, I’m not taking Alistair. He’s... no fun.”

The exaggerated and vocalized shudder that followed confirmed Gabriel as the speaker. Sam kept his back to the huddle of angels surrounding the chair on which, Sam assumed, Gabriel was seated.  He managed to push aside enough beauty products to set down his tray on a table from them. Was he supposed to serve them? Unload the plates? Announce that... what? Dinner is served? He’s not their butler.

“He makes his way through the Garrison, Gabriel, you know that. He’s done full circle, I suppose.” Michael sighed.

“Yeah, well my bruises from last time certainly haven’t.”

Bruises?

“He does like it rough.” The other angel, Samandriel, chuckled humorlessly.

“Understatement.” Sam turned to watch Michael cross his arms over his bare chest. There was a fourth angel with them, but he had  yet to speak and Sam couldn’t bring himself to remember his name. “Thank goodness for safewords.”

“I’d agree with you if he acknowledged them.” Gabriel’s voice was small, dejected.  “No point to a safeword if I need to shout it at him four times before he even thinks about stopping.”

Sam frowned. He wasn’t one to draw notches on his bedposts, but he’d been with women before, not all of them girlfriends. He doesn’t remember ever using a safeword, not that one was every required. Describing Sam’s sex life as tame would be a valid statement. Vanilla was his favourite flavor when it came to the bedroom, but that didn’t mean he was ignorant of other possibilities, ones that –as much as he hated to think about it –his brother was more likely to participate in. He’d read about it, though. The trust that came with rough-play was contractual, the conditions of which could not be breached. The consequences were dire otherwise, ranging from discomfort to full on trauma. Part of Sam was dying to know what could get Gabriel, of all people, to use a safeword, but a larger part really wanted to rip –what was it? –Alistair’s head off.

“That is unacceptable, brother. Perhaps you should inform Crowley.”

“I can’t,” Gabriel spat. “It’s not like the man refuses to pay for the... _property damage._ ”

There was a pause and all three angels stared down at Gabriel, hands placed thoughtfully over their mouths. Sam joined them. Who the hell was this guy? Sure, as the weeks flew by he began to notice some returning faces. Table 7 was always occupied by the same group of men on Saturdays and the woman with the uncomfortably long pink fingernails liked to sit at the very front of the stage, but none of the regulars seemed capable of something so sinister. Of course, he knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but if Sam were to be honest, he had yet to see anyone creep up to use the rooms upstairs in the first place. Hell, he had yet to even see the rooms upstairs!

Michael, rather unfittingly, snorted. “What’s the point of fees if the customer doesn’t mind paying them.”

“It’s just not healthy...” Samandriel practically whispered, shaking his head.

“Or safe,” Michael nodded and placed a hand on what Sam imagined was Gabriel’s wrist. “But your informal refusal of his advances will be met with consequences. Are you sure about this, brother?”

The angels passing by were starting to shoot him some odd looks. He wasn’t exactly being discreet with his snooping. Sam stood unmoving at a short ten foot distance from the private meeting. If the topic of conversation weren’t so disturbing, he would be out waiting on patrons by now. Correction: if Gabriel wasn’t the topic of conversation, he would be out waiting on patrons by now. Sam wasn’t ready to deal with the sense of propriety tugging at his gut at the thought of Alistair sharing a bed with Gabriel, but he was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he was bothered, very much so, by the mistreatment of the angel. That being said, he wasn’t too keen on Michael’s passive aggressive persuasions, either.

But, at the end of the day, Sam’s senses told him that these men have been through a lot together and, no matter how bothered he was, this was none of his business. He was not about to play _moral hero_ for a man who was probably emotionally stronger than him. He began to walk away.

“Brother...”

“I don’t know, okay?! But, I sure as hell ain’t going upstairs with the likes of him!” His voice cracked and then, so did Sam.

Moral hero, perhaps not. But _immoral_ hero? Now that, Gabriel would appreciate.

“You bet your ass you’re not!”

If they were startled to see him standing there, they didn’t show it. They did, however, step aside like a pair of curtains opening for a first act, only to reveal Gabriel, sitting with his elbows on his knees and thumbnail between his teeth.

“Sam?” Gabriel’s fingers fell from his mouth as he straightened in his seat. The lights coming from the round bulbs of the boudoir behind him created a glowing arch around his form. “What are you doing here?”

Sam could see his own reflection in the mirror. He had no idea what he was doing and it was painfully obvious. If Bobby were here, he’d tell him to close his mouth again.

“Uh...delivering food.” Sam gestured to the plates behind him with his thumb as he strut over to Gabriel. The dancing lessons were paying off; the sway of his hips was only _very_ awkward.  

“And eavesdropping, apparently,” Michael added, crossing his arms over his chest all over again, as if his disapproval was not made clear in his tone.

“Guilty as charged,” Sam grinned, without tearing his gaze away from Gabriel, not even for a second. “Glad I did though, seeing as it was in my best interest.”

“How so?”

Michael seemed to be talking for Gabriel, since the latter was too busy gaping. There was something about Gabriel looking up at him from his seated position that tugged at Sam’s gut, in a completely different manner.

“Yeah Sam, how so?” Gabriel muttered, more air than words coming out of his mouth.

“Last time I checked,” Sam said, planting his hands on the armrests on each side of the angel. He ducked his head down, strands of hair falling to close the distance between both their heads. Sam could have sworn he just saw Gabriel go cross-eyed. “We have a date coming up. Soon.”

“We –we do?” The Great ‘Gabrini,’ who asked his prospects out through throwing-knife messages, _squeaked._

“Mhmm.” Sam hummed a pitch too high, leaning in further. Clearly, Gabriel still had some courage left in him, seeing as he was not in any way backing up into the chair. His posture did not falter and their foreheads pressed together. His entire body shook with adrenaline, but he was too busy asking himself what the HELL he was doing to really care. He didn’t want to lead Gabriel on, of course, but he didn’t want him to feel obliged to sleep with that creep either! He had to be firm! Besides, he wouldn’t technically be leading him on if he ended up actually going on the date...

 _Crap._ He’d have to deal with that later.

“So no sleeping with anyone,” he announced, shakily pushing himself off the chair and away from a gasping Gabriel. God, he felt awkward. This was not him. This was _so_ not him. He was starting to sweat, heavily. And there was no way he could hold his composure any longer, not with Gabriel looking oh so very flustered at his feet. It was time to make an exit. A grand finale. Something subtle, to make up for his forwardness.

“Won’t be any fun if you’re sore.”

 _Nice,_ Sam internally bitch-faced himself.

With a glimpse of Gabriel slumping in his seat and rolling his eyes back into his skull, Sam rotated on his heels and power-walked the hell out of there, tray long forgotten.

//

The good Lord was testing him. As if it weren’t enough that his job made him question his sexuality, he was beginning to resent his side job as the delivery boy too. The universe kept sending him neatly wrapped presents topped with pretty, pretty bows. He was still waiting for the catch. There was always a catch. The universe was like an infomercial; contrary to popular belief, it never just _gave_ stuff away.

But as the gifts got bigger and bigger, and the bows that topped them prettier and prettier, Dean felt his facade beginning to crack. It was only a matter of time until he caved and clawed the wrapping paper to shreds.

Despite the fear of his curiosity getting the best of him, Dean need not worry this time. The universe had gone easy on the gift-wrap. If it were to his dismay or benefit, he had yet to find out.

“Okay, two things.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in a meager attempt at intercepting the headache that was bound to start blooming at any second.

“First, where’s Gabe?” He shut his eyes. He couldn’t look at him.

“He wasn’t feeling well, they let him go early.”

“Right, of course.”

Sam had told him about his little escapade with the other angel. Or at least was halfway through the story before his panting turned into hyperventilating, which very soon after took a swan dive into full fledged anxiety attack.

Sam was called a cab. Dean was given an aspirin.

“Second thing,” Dean said, keeping his voice stern because at this point it was the only control of his life he felt he still had. “Where the hell are your clothes?”

Castiel stared down at himself, slightly spreading his limbs, as though he himself had just taken note of his nakedness and wished to examine it more thoroughly.

When Castiel’s gaze snapped back to Dean, the electricity of the blue hit Dean straight in the chest. Why did everything this guy do have to be so _intense_?

“Despite his state of unrest, Gabriel felt well enough to drive... and take all my clothes.”

Dean had no idea how Castiel was having this conversation with him perfectly level-headed and calm.

“It was quite the _fucking_ plan, really.” Castiel hissed, placing his hands behind his back. “He spilled an entire _fucking_ pitcher of beer on me, most probably on purpose, while telling me about his _fucking_ adventure with your brother.”

“Oh.”  Now he could see it. When it came to Castiel, it was very easy to mistake calm for _positively seething._

“So I took a shower,” he huffed. “And then he stole all my clothing.”

“Ah.” Dean wasn’t sure what the correct reaction was supposed to be. Sending Gabriel flowers was probably not it.

 “Except your underwear?” Dean jerked his chin towards the plaid navy blue boxers hanging –not as loosely as they should –around his thighs.

“Huh?” He glanced down at himself again. “Oh, no. These are Balthazar’s. He let me borrow them.”

Dean was about to just shrug it all off. Walk to his car with this magnificently sculpted angel in tow, have him sit, naked, in his magnificently sculpted car and enjoy the view on the drive home. Dean was about to laugh this all off, maybe succumb to some flirtations, even talk about Sam and Gabriel’s upcoming date. He was about to take Cas home and find just about a million excuses to touch him.

He was just about to do all that, but now, _he_ was seething _._ And unlike Castiel, one could tell, much too easily, when Dean Winchester was seething.

“Take them off.”

“What?”

Dean didn’t answer, and with a loud clink and thud, dropped his keys and jacket to the ground.

“You’re taking those off before you get into my car,” he said, tone unwaveringly serious and commanding. Cas didn’t like that. Dean knew Cas didn’t like that. But Dean didn’t like Balthazar. Not after that performance and definitely not after the conversation he overheard.

“Why?!”

Cas’s eyes followed Dean behind the bar where he began to unbutton his pants. The sound of the zipper coming down echoed loudly in the empty club.

“Are you –Oh my God, are you taking your pants off?!” Castiel stepped closer.

“This is how it’s gonna go,” he explained through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna take my pants off, then I’m gonna take my briefs off, and then I’m gonna put my pants back on. _Then_ I’ll turn around, you’ll take those _boxers_ off, put my briefs on, and then –and only then –will I drive you home.”

The clatter of Dean’s belt as his pants hit the floor stopped Castiel dead in his tracks.

“Oh –Oh my God, you’re serious.” He laughed humorlessly. “What is your problem, Dean?”

“The boxers.”

“Yeah, I got that much,” Castiel scoffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “What’s wrong with them.”

“Their owner.” He would regret admitting to that later, but right now, he was angry, and acting like a complete douche seemed to be his go-to coping method.

“Baltha –“ Castiel cut himself off. His eyes widened in realisation, just as a large lump formed in Dean’s throat. “You _were_ eavesdropping. I knew it!” He pointed at him accusingly.

Dean remained silent and continued to escape his pants. His briefs came next.

“I don’t need you to save me, Dean.” Castiel spat. He was mad. He had also made it to the bar, torso pressed against the edge of the counter.  “What the fuck do you think this is? Half of these guys are prostitutes! Is this some kind of hero complex? Do you get off on rescuing people? We don’t need a fucking savior, Dean!” He shouted.

“DAMMIT CAS!” Dean snapped, sending one open palm and one closed around a pair of underwear slamming painfully against the counter in front of Castiel. “If you think I give a single _flying fuck_ about any of those other _angels_ , then you’re terribly mistaken.”

“Dean –“

“I don’t want you to need him.”  Castiel opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced. “In any way, Cas. I don’t care if you need a dime for the vending machine. You come to me, you come to Sam. Gabriel. I don’t care. But I swear to God, if you ever _borrow_ anything from that creep again I’ll –“

“You’ll what.” The angel snarled at him. “Huh? What are you gonna do? You’re just another  asshole who thinks he owns me. Tell me, how does that make you any better than Balthazar, hm?”

All the air in his lungs escaped as Castiel made a grab for his shirt and pulled him against the bar. They were so close and suddenly, he was having trouble holding on to his anger, as it liquefied and melted away, only to be replaced by a whole new kind of heat. Castiel’s eyes were alit, his jaw set almost as tightly as his grip on his shirt.

“The way I see it, you’re all talk, no ac –”

It could hardly be considered a kiss. Dean smashing his lips against Castiel’s and pulling away a second later was hardly the ballsy move he was going for, but it seemed to fluster the angel enough.

Blue eyes went wide and the grasp on his shirt loosened significantly, only to tightened tenfold a mere moment later. Dean was forcefully tugged forward, his mouth stopping an inch from Castiel’s. They both went cross-eyed as their gazes met up-close. Dean could stare forever, he was sure of it. He could inhale Castiel’s exhale for the rest of his life. A hand over his interrupted that plan, as the angel began to tug the garment out of his fist.

Parted lips against parted lips, with his eyes, Dean begged Castiel for more contact.

“Watch me,” the angel whispered against his mouth, the heat of his breath spreading over his skin.

As he pulled away, Dean let his head fall forward with a gasp. He raised his eyes only to find that Castiel had positioned himself a few feet from the bar, Dean’s red boxer briefs hanging from his hand at his side.

“Dean,” he breathed with his voice so raspy that it made Dean visibly shudder.

“Dean. I want you to watch me.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t really up to Castiel. Dean couldn’t tear away his gaze even if he wanted to. The angel had slipped his thumb under the boxers and was running it all across the waistband, tugging ever so teasingly, that it made Dean’s neck crane high to get the smallest glimpse of where that delicious treasure trail lead.

“So, what do you want me to do with these,” he purred, twirling Dean’s briefs in one hand, as the other continued to work the elasticity of the boxers.

“Should I put them on?” A stronger tug at the waistband had Dean gasping out loud. His eyes could not leave the revelation that were those sharp hipbones framing his lower abdominals into a perfect V.

“Wear them for a day?” His smile grew. “I promise I’ll give them back, Dean.” He cooed.

And then, in a whisper: “Promise I won’t wash them either.”

Dean’s mouth went completely dry, as he watched Castiel shimmy out of the boxers. The look on his face was of sheer _sex._ Castiel, his mouth, his movements, that bulge –it was all so fucking slutty, Dean could have sworn he had just stepped into a porno. Lips parted and eyes closed, the angel’s hips swayed left and right, slowly, very slowly, and pushed the boxers down his thighs and –

“Holy shit, Cas.”

Castiel was hard. _Hard for him,_ Dean couldn’t help but think, as he became aware of his own erection sticking out from underneath his dress shirt. The angel’s length hung proudly between his legs, leaning comfortably on the waistband pushed underneath it. Dean wanted nothing more than to rip those fucking boxers off.

“Dean, what do you want. Tell me what you –“

“Touch yourself.”

There was a moment of sheer panic where they both stared at each other, wide-eyed and unsure of what was to happen next. That had been a slip up, yes, but Dean was sure as hell not about take it back.

Hesitantly –mostly due to the shock of Dean’s request –Castiel wrapped his long fingers around the base of his cock, moving them along his shaft, up and down, excruciatingly slowly.

“Fuck – _Cas_.” Dean breathed, leaning his front against the bar, one hand on the edge for support, the other mimicking the angel’s movements on his own cock.

“Do you like that, Dean?” He sighed. “God, keep talking to me.”

If Dean was at Castiel’s complete and utter mercy, that gave him at least an inch of his confidence back, knowing that the angel wanted this too, that Dean was having an effect on him as much as he was on Dean.

“I love it, baby. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

Castiel leaned back on one of the tables, legs spread wide before him.

“ _Dean –_ “ His pace quickened, his fist working his head, spreading the wetness and precum all along his shaft. The slick sounds went straight to Dean’s own arousal, as he picked up the pace to match Castiel’s.

“Dean I –I know you’re touching yourself. I know you’re watching me and –and – _oh!_ “

“Cas, don’t come yet.” He said in a low growl.

“Dean, please –”

“Fuck your fist.” He commanded. “Can you do that for me, angel?”

  Castiel’s gaze met his, the blue almost entirely swallowed by lust. His stare was steady and intense, alight with the implication of a challenge.

Using one hand as leverage on the edge, Castiel leaned more of his weight against the table and began to thrust into his hand. The angel fucked his fist hard and fast. Based on his talents on stage, Dean would expect no less from the stripper. His movements grew faster and more erotic as he jerked harder and harder against his grip.

“Dean –Dean, I’m gonna –!”

Dean could do this all night, in every position imaginable, but the thought of watching Castiel reach his climax... He wanted to see the expression on his face when he came, the noises he made, the twitches of his body.

“God, Cas –I... I wanna see you come. I wanna watch you come for me.”

With a soundless ‘fuck’ escaping his lips, Castiel came into his fist, cum spilling over his fingers as he continued to ride his orgasm with shaky jerks of his hips. Unable to contain himself, Dean followed right after, pumping his cock into an orgasm that shook his entire body as he watched  Castiel finish himself off.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, leaning against the bar for support. He was spent and by the looks of it, so was Castiel.

He watched, silently amused, as the angel wiped himself down with the boxers before throwing them at Dean. Halfway through the satisfaction of wiping the cum off his hands with Balthazar’s underwear, Dean came to a halt in light of the new spectacle before him. His softening cock gave one last twitch at the sight of Castiel stepping into Dean’s bright red boxer briefs and slipping them tightly over his form.

“What?” The angel asked, brow arched.

“Hey uh... I know we we’re just talkin’ dirty back there but...”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for him to spit it out.

“You really better not wash ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story request for a comment?!?  
> Tumblr is doekent


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